Mere Anarchy

Critical evidence.
andre breton
james dickey
kafka
theodore roethke
wb yeats
sylvia
ts eliot
irvine welsh
chuck palahniuk
dostoevsky

Forensic reports.
edward gorey
man ray
simon boses

Admissions of guilt.
deadcandance
cohen
nick cave
natalie merchant
rammstein
iggy pop

Crime scenes
aurora picture show
diverseworks
theater LaB houston
voices breaking boundaries

Damning testimony.
surrealism
roller derby
exploding dog
levity
girlsarepretty

After buying work shirts at a Thrift Store in the Heights we stop at The Spaghetti Western for dinner. Its more of a bar than a restaurant, at least that's how it seems at four pm, which is maybe how all restaurants are at 4. I've never been here before but she had.
"Don't get the Italian nachos they're really weird."
Weird good, or weird bad?
"Just weird."
I decide that corn chips covered in marinara, peppers, and melted mozzarella are definitely weird bad.
So whatcha havin?
"Chicken and Shrimp Pasta."
You can't have that.
"Why not?"
That's what I'm having.
"So?"
I fail to impress on her how strange, creepy, and uncreative it is when people all order the same thing. It makes you all look like you're scared to try anything new and that you're about as adventurous as a lump of mud. While we're waiting on the waitress I go up to check out the jukebox (which I am sure is part of what is adding to the "bar" feel). The jukebox is actually pretty good, Peter Murphy, The Cure, and Travis Tritt are all living like happy neighbors in the jukebox apartment complex, I would guess though that a few neighbors (The Clash) can get rowdy and others (Tracy Chapman) let their garbage pile up outside their door for days until it begins to harbor a flock of pigeons that take roost above Robert Smith's car, but he's really to shy to complain to her about it, so it just gets worse. An old man staggers by being followed by a large border collie (more of that "bar" feel). I hear her.
"Two Chicken and Shrimp Pastas."
I want to run over their and change my order but I've become mesmerized by a giant glossy poster of a nameless cowboy ducking behind an overturned wooden water barrel. Bullets nick the top of the barrel throwing fistfuls of splinters into the air forever. The cowboy's face is hidden behind the brim of his large hat. Do cowboy's pray? They always say "Say yer prayers varmint" But that's always the bad cowboy (cattle rustler, Indian sympathizer, Methodist) who's always killed by the good cowboy. If I was a cowboy I would pray and I don't even believe in God. I would pray "God, a little help over here" or "Hey, ya busy?" Something casual and cool, I am after all a cowboy.
"Anything good?"
She's walked over to stand beside me, and as if my psychic powers scream through her mind she sees an alternate menu on a chalkboard.
"Hey that's what I want."
What?
"Blackened Chicken Alfredo"
Well, go change your order its only been a sec.
I go back to my table as she hunts down our waitress who's shift is ending. I watch our new waitress I'm not sure if its because its obvious she's not wearing a bra, which makes me remember every time I've seen someone close to me without a bra on, or some other reason. Later our new waitress brings back our food and exclaims:
"Oh my God!! Is that you?"
She's not talking to me, so I turn to her.
"Yeah, so how have you been doing"
And so on and so on and so on. I'm more concerned with getting enough pepper on my pasta. When the waitress leaves I'm told that I've met her before and I vaguely remember buying drugs at three am over two years ago. As we chew she adds:
"You remember me telling you about those pictures that we're taken of me?"
My mind flashes to an image of her nude, blindfolded and gagged tied spread eagle on a bed while people pour hot wax on her. It later evolves.
Yeah that was you and Kim and some Louis right?
"No, not Louis, Dwane"
Oh.
"And her."
Her? The waitress?
"Mm-hmm."
Suddenly my penne pasta rolling in a creamy butter sauce looks obscene. Above the table a framed picture of The Duke in chaps smiles down approvingly.

posted by James @ 6:42 PM

Montag, April 14, 2003