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Week Nine: Wednesday.
Who: Ecks & Bastian
When: Wednesday, late in the evening
Where: The Barking Spider Tavern
What: Nothing to do but drink
The thing about living in your car was that you never want to spend more time in it than necessary. Apartments, no matter how small, were larger than the backseat of your car. You could stand to waste some time in a shoebox of an apartment than a tuna can of a car. Fairly certain of an impending bout of claustrophobia looming in the future, Ecks had taken to driving with the front windows down. Even on night like this, when it was almost could enough to snow, he was the only man on the street with his windows down. At the red light, he considered for a moment to put them halfway up, but his hands never moved to do so. Ecks was on the prowl for somewhere to go, to get out of this can. His options were temporarily limited. The venues were vast in this city but his review was not complete and the direct result was the tank running nearly on 'E'. As soon as he was paid, he would fill it to the brim and blow the rest on cigarette papers, booze, and a bit of food.
He woke up on the wrong side of the seat or something this morning. Ecks had been in a piss-poor mood for most of the day and though he had become something of an introvert in the last few months, today and really just been one of those days. Angry, just plain angry, at everything in life; the car, the job, the money, the city, the guy that looked your way for longer than a second, the pigeon that shit on the windshield, whoever did whatever that landed you in your current situation. Why not be mad at the world today? Wednesdays were good days to tell the whole planet to go blow itself.
The Barking Spider Tavern looked like the perfect place to sit and drink. He was hardly in the mood for actual conversation or contemplation and alcohol did seem to take care of that pretty well. The weather was going to be unforgiving tonight, again, and sleeping in the cold while half off your rocker was not healthy but effective. He parked the car down the alley a bit as there was every intention once he had finished his stay at the tavern that he could stumble right home and sleep it off.
Before he opened the door, he checked his worn leather wallet to see how much he had left. Jackson crept up in front of brightly-colored Post-Its with names and numbers scrawled across them--names of people for stories and reviews. Tonight looked like it was going to be the last night he could spend at the bar for the next few days, until he had managed to crank out at least two decent reviews and make the weary freelance-writer's fee. Thankfully, there was still enough papers and tobacco to last until his next binge. Ecks entered into the tavern through the door slowly enough to absorb a bit of the atmosphere. It seemed like any place that had its regulars and drifters such as he, kept up enough to be clean and pass the health inspections but nothing to put on the cover of the city's highlights magazines. This was perfect; a place where a guy could come and have a drink or two, hassle-free.
Ecks strolled over to the bar and sat a good five seats away from another customer. He unzipped his beaten-up leather jacket, the room a great deal warmer than the interior of the car, and sat with the four layers of shirts snug against his skin that were rotated for warmth and to supposedly keep them clean longer. The note was put back in his wallet, hardly enough for a man of his tolerance to get completely and utterly soused, but he could get licked with it. "Bourbon on the rocks," he gave without emotion in his voice to the figure behind the counter. Elbows were placed comfortably on the edge of the counter; his heels hooked the bottom rung of the stool, and for a short time, his eyes drifted to different areas of the outdated decor.
When: Wednesday, late in the evening
Where: The Barking Spider Tavern
What: Nothing to do but drink
The thing about living in your car was that you never want to spend more time in it than necessary. Apartments, no matter how small, were larger than the backseat of your car. You could stand to waste some time in a shoebox of an apartment than a tuna can of a car. Fairly certain of an impending bout of claustrophobia looming in the future, Ecks had taken to driving with the front windows down. Even on night like this, when it was almost could enough to snow, he was the only man on the street with his windows down. At the red light, he considered for a moment to put them halfway up, but his hands never moved to do so. Ecks was on the prowl for somewhere to go, to get out of this can. His options were temporarily limited. The venues were vast in this city but his review was not complete and the direct result was the tank running nearly on 'E'. As soon as he was paid, he would fill it to the brim and blow the rest on cigarette papers, booze, and a bit of food.
He woke up on the wrong side of the seat or something this morning. Ecks had been in a piss-poor mood for most of the day and though he had become something of an introvert in the last few months, today and really just been one of those days. Angry, just plain angry, at everything in life; the car, the job, the money, the city, the guy that looked your way for longer than a second, the pigeon that shit on the windshield, whoever did whatever that landed you in your current situation. Why not be mad at the world today? Wednesdays were good days to tell the whole planet to go blow itself.
The Barking Spider Tavern looked like the perfect place to sit and drink. He was hardly in the mood for actual conversation or contemplation and alcohol did seem to take care of that pretty well. The weather was going to be unforgiving tonight, again, and sleeping in the cold while half off your rocker was not healthy but effective. He parked the car down the alley a bit as there was every intention once he had finished his stay at the tavern that he could stumble right home and sleep it off.
Before he opened the door, he checked his worn leather wallet to see how much he had left. Jackson crept up in front of brightly-colored Post-Its with names and numbers scrawled across them--names of people for stories and reviews. Tonight looked like it was going to be the last night he could spend at the bar for the next few days, until he had managed to crank out at least two decent reviews and make the weary freelance-writer's fee. Thankfully, there was still enough papers and tobacco to last until his next binge. Ecks entered into the tavern through the door slowly enough to absorb a bit of the atmosphere. It seemed like any place that had its regulars and drifters such as he, kept up enough to be clean and pass the health inspections but nothing to put on the cover of the city's highlights magazines. This was perfect; a place where a guy could come and have a drink or two, hassle-free.
Ecks strolled over to the bar and sat a good five seats away from another customer. He unzipped his beaten-up leather jacket, the room a great deal warmer than the interior of the car, and sat with the four layers of shirts snug against his skin that were rotated for warmth and to supposedly keep them clean longer. The note was put back in his wallet, hardly enough for a man of his tolerance to get completely and utterly soused, but he could get licked with it. "Bourbon on the rocks," he gave without emotion in his voice to the figure behind the counter. Elbows were placed comfortably on the edge of the counter; his heels hooked the bottom rung of the stool, and for a short time, his eyes drifted to different areas of the outdated decor.