Thursday, April 11, 2013

sound proof boards, i tell ya

I rarely go to the movies. It's something that is hard enough to do when you've got a hundred fucking things to juggle with such little time in your hands. I wish I had the weird ability to create a clone that could help me with all this shit that I've got to do. But that would make nothing our of everything.

A friend and colleague always told me "Go big or go home." What a fucking loser but I love him for telling me that. He was always just drifting away in his own shit and smoke, a fetid smell that stank and felt like crusty grains of orange speckled rust always came to mind when I think of him. Much like the razor that was used to cut him right open. Poor bastard, too proud to ask for help. I could've helped him that afternoon. Instead he chose to be gutted like raw fish.

Being a moviehouse mainstay is not easy. You never really know who to hit unless you see them in the transient light before they enter the dark corners of the cinema. I can't really make out what they carry or if they did, will those things make a pretty penny. Heck, it's a dying business really. I don't really know what keeps me from coming back to this old dead-end job. Sure beats trying to make deliveries, I'd tell you that.

Some dudes really just want to get up even after you get at them real hard. Ya'know? It's like they're looking for a worse time than what you've already given them. It's a familiar taste in my mouth, seeping blood into my tongue after an elbow clipped me in the lip, I returned the favor with a hard overhand smack on his right ear. That sure will make his drums buzz. Now, if I could just find that wallet of his. Here it is. Cheap fuck. But not bad for his taste in lighters. I used to have a Zippo that looked like this. I used to.

Business is hard, just like any other business. On a good day, I can make a few runs and not get hit or caught. This scarf is a handy mask. It keeps them guessing. My favorite spot will have to be the comfort room stalls. I can get real sneaky in those. Pop a monkey mask and most just freak out though I still get to use my iron knuckles once in a while. It gets messy when I get myself a bleeder. Chips of bone and teeth are not a pretty sight for your date, it looks troubling and disturbing. Imagine having to put up with that thing in front of you and still trying to make small talk. I couldn't eat a spaghetti bolognese with that, thank you.

I get to see a lot of creeps in movie houses. The dark room perfect for their choice of creepery. Fucking assholes waiting for justice on their faces. I wish I could get a baseball bat in when I hit a place. It would be awesome to just bust out of a stall and go all ape shit on his face, then his legs from the shin down to the ankle. It will break like a twig snaps as you step on it. It'll get stepped on real hard. Then, I'll get the loot to make it a mugging. Fucking amateur.

I remember this one time, this asshole kept on trying to score a grab on this girl's breast. She kept saying no and that she wasn't comfortable with the whole idea of groping inside the cinema. He insisted. She still said no and hit his hand with the blade of her hand. He flinched. What a bitch, he must've thought. He went down for a piss. I followed. His date wondered where he'd gone to after that.

Sometimes it just gets tiring. I just want to quit while I'm ahead but who would keep at it if I stop now?

I read too much fiction. I used all of those to wipe my wares after. They soak up good but I still have to use rags to make sure they're clean to the nooks. I hate this part. It makes me feel dirty all of a sudden. If only girls could just stop going into movie houses just to get violated. But where's the fun in being clean? If only dudes would just stop being total dicks and secret rapists. That would be more boring. I'll have plenty of time to kill.

The afternoon my friend got sliced into ribbons was the first time I had a slow day. I was kinda feeling that he'll get done real good but I hadn't imagined it to be that way. He picked the wrong catch that day. I still have that rusty razor.


  1. Sadness, frustration, anger, helplessness. I almost told myself to stop reading. I got to point where I was scared who you really are. After the tenth paragraph though, I wished there were more. I still do but, I think the said paragraph punctuated this piece very poignantly.

    1. who were you afraid of?

      i actually thought that this script scene would read really amateurish.

    2. You. Or your alter-ego. It did not read like a script scene to me but, an index-card way of writing down your thoughts and what went on around you.

      Now that you mentioned it, though, I no longer feel weird about picturing Joseph Gordon-Levitt as the narrator. (:

    3. JGL, da fucking man.

      it's good to nurture alter egos. sometimes they become real.