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This Is Embarassing

10/30/2016

BY DOUG VAN HOOSER

Embarrassed by Chris Fane / Flickr

The band was loud. Paul leaned over the bar and ordered his usual dirty martini. As the bartender turned away to make the drink, Paul turned to look over the crowd. He spotted Janice, she never missed a Clawing Maul gig. She was the lead guitar player’s wife or girlfriend. He had never asked. He waved. She waved back. She was a large woman to begin with and the pregnancy had blown her up more. Paul turned to get his drink and ordered a sparkling water for Janice. She was a real sweetheart. Never a word of complaint, much less an unkind one. The only woman Paul had ever met that he could say always had a genuine smile. Nothing artificial or forced. He paid for the drinks, and started to knife his way through the crowd.

“Hey.” Paul greeted her.

“Hey. Sit down. It’s been a while."

“Yea, I missed the last couple of times the Maul played. Here I got you a sparkler.” He placed the water in front of her.

She looked up with that engaging smile as he took a seat. “Forget that. It’s time for one of those.” She pointed at his martini.

Blue

10/30/2016

BY E. M. EASTICK

Blue Clown by Cristina Jiménez Ledesma / Flickr

When baby-blue walls are the only thing separating you from the degradation of humankind, it’s hard to stay calm. But what choice do I have? My attempts to escape, to continue my plight, have drawn the walls tighter. The threat taunts me in my prison. The memories eat at my conscience.

A line of silly string—pukey green in the yellow light—squiggled down the alley and disappeared behind an industrial bin. I crept forward and tried not to breathe in, but the stench tugged my nostril hairs and threatened to call up my cheeseburger dinner. Nevertheless, I pushed on. I had him. "GIVE IT UP, BOZO.”

A chuckle erupted from behind the bin. A rainbow smelling of popcorn rushed past me. Ill-fitting shoes flip-flopped down the alley, and I chased, my clown extermination kit, cleverly disguised as a briefcase, swinging at my side. When I reached the corner, he’d gone. No circus smells. No flip flops. No crazy blue hair that marked him as a member of the Clown Uprising.

Clarity

10/29/2016

BY J. D. GRAVES

Margarita by Kim Manly Ort / Flickr

I recently decided to quit drinking. No one browbeat me into it. No one heaped platitudes or used twelve step double speak to steer me towards the wagon. I arrived at this choice of my own free will and with a somewhat sober mind.

Last month I'd gone out again with Jeannie. That toe headed squaw who you remember works at Peterson's grocery store. Jeannie and me started the night sensibly enough. I picked her up and drove into Longview for Tex-Mex. We each had a margarita.

And then another.

After that we wanted to pace ourselves so I ordered a round of beers. By this time, Jeannie wasn't feeling good and excused herself to the ladies room. The waiter, this pimply faced kid in chinos, came over and apologized for the delay of our food. He gave some half-acorn excuse about being short handed in the kitchen.

He offered us another round and I nodded. I mean I wasn't going to offend the guy. A hispanic boy came over and refilled the chips and salsa.

All was right with the world.

This Is Embarassing﻿

Blue

Clarity

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This Is Embarassing