Leftover Chinese & Beer (553 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesRating: 0.33 on 10 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by jack_of_hearts (View user info) at 2009-07-27 11:42:32 EDT
The clock on the wall read a quarter past two when Adam heard the alternating shuffle and stomp of the postman's footstep. He sighed. The mail always brought at least one letter that he was never happy to receive. Granted, you have to find a way to pay the mortgage somehow. And when you relied on collecting a paycheck for your efforts, it had a way of numbing the effect of whatever task was your charge.
Adam opened the fridge. Inside was a container of leftover Chinese and a lone beer populating the otherwise sparse white shelves. He relocated the white and red box to the microwave and popped the cap off the beer with a lighter from his pocket. Somewhere on the kitchen counter was a pack of Lucky Strikes, and while the green digital clock counted backwards on the microwave, Adam moved piles of paid bills and letters around searching for his fix.
He found them hidden under his keys and bowler cap. Lighting his cigarette, he opened the door and walked across the hallway to the Apartment mailboxes, one of the perks of living on the ground floor. Adam was right, of course, about what the post would bring that day. Waiting until he was back inside with the door locked, he cautiously opened the yellow envelope he had grown so used to. As his eyes scanned the page, his stomach reeled and he almost didn't hear the beep of the microwave.
Shaking his head, Adam fetched his food and a fork, eating it while standing over the counter and sipping his beer. The cigarette still clutched between his ring and middle fingers was nearly done, and the cherry began to burn his skin. He drew in a short breath and violently threw the butt into the sink.
'Fuck me, that hurt,' he thought.
The meeting set up for Adam that day was four hours away and somewhere downtown. It'd only take him an hour to get there, so he still had plenty of time to dick around before leaving. This time would be spent the same way it always was, a shower and then an hour or so of cleaning and organizing his tools. It was an obsessive compulsion towards perfection in work that kept Adam in the business. He was always in high demand, and the money he was paid was plenty to stifle any moral qualms he had about the whole arrangement.
Adam left his apartment at about six that evening, dressed in a fine-tailored suit and his signature bowler cap. He was carrying a briefcase with the envelope he received earlier and his other equipment. It was at this point in time, during the long walk to wherever his destination happened to be, that Adam often pondered the contrast of his high-profile appearance to the shitty rathole he lived in.
When the time came to act, Adam always pulled his mind outside of himself. While his body reenacted a scene it had long since memorized, he attempted to pull his soul upward into the stars. He'd become practiced at this, and could nearly manage to envision himself passing Neptune by the time he was finished. Blinking his eyes, Adam awoke again to the streets and alleyways, and began his trek back home.
He knew to walk slowly and deliberately, and to always take the longer way back. There were enough Chinese restaurants in town that this didn't bother him in the least. Every single one of them knew him by now, and he didn't have to open his mouth before they were telling him his total. He always paid with hundreds, fresh and crisp from his wallet, and they smiled because he tipped well.
While waiting for his food, Adam would go to the bathroom and try his best to remove the smell of rotten eggs from his clothes. This act always proved in vain, and though he didn't know a word of Chinese outside of the menu he assumed the old women who typically owned these places talked about him. A ten dollar tip on a twenty dollar check is enough to keep anyone relatively quiet though.
The next day, he likely be doing the exact same thing in a different part of town. Maybe he'd be lucky enough to find a place that also sold beer then. The thing Adam hated most of all was eating without beer, but he didn't feel like he could see anyone else until he had eaten and showered, so he'd just have to make due. When he was clean and changed his clothes, he'd walk to the gas station a block down the street and pick up a six-pack. And, like always, he finish five of them before passing out, leaving him one to drink with his leftovers in the morning.
User Reviews
Submitted by locksly (user info) at 2009-07-28 04:32:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Plus 2 . but why does he smell like rotten eggs? who knows, at least you're posting something.
Submitted by RoadSong (user info) at 2009-07-27 20:14:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
mmmm Chinese food.
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2009-07-27 16:12:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
no ambivalence here.
i hated this through and through.
Submitted by Ballare (user info) at 2009-07-27 14:17:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
This is awkward and stilted and this bit in particular: "the meeting set up for Adam that day was four hours away and somewhere downtown. It'd only take him an hour to get there," had me read and re-reading it until I understood what you were trying to say.
Submitted by sage104 (user info) at 2009-07-27 13:35:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This was a bit of a choppy read; however, I liked the premise. Work on your fluidity.
"A" for effort.
Submitted by sage104 (user info) at 2009-07-27 13:28:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You need a more captivating opening line; I havent read the rest of it but I'm glad its original so have some points and I'll rate accordingly post-read.
Submitted by Doodles (user info) at 2009-07-27 12:31:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
"He relocated the white and red box to the microwave"
Oh.
I get it.
You're making a statement about how "the white man" forced all the Indians to move from they're prime real estate (the fridge) to harsh inhospitable territories represented by the microwave.
The beer represents the alcohol that the white man used to subjugate these fine native Americans.
Adam, a white male probably between the ages of 18-65, represents the entirely white male government forcing the native people from their lands, so that it may be claimed under the Homestead Act by other white men.
The kicker is that the 'fridge is sparsely populated, symbolizing that both the white man and the native American could have easily shared the land and prospered.
Or you're a pretentious cock.
I haven't decided yet.
Submitted by w_t_a_y_s_t_r_m (user info) at 2009-07-27 12:13:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Not sure if I enjoyed this or hated it.
Don't know why, but it came across as really pretentious.
But I suppose it was better than half the crap getting sharted onto this ol' screen of mine.
Submitted by HurtByTheSun (user info) at 2009-07-27 12:06:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Hitman or rentboy?
Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2009-07-27 12:03:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I guess he's what, a hitman? A messenger for some illegal organization? I dunno. But...
WOO HOO!
50% of Americans disapprove of Obama's performance to some extent compared to 49% that approve to some extent! His Rasmussen Approval Index (% of likely voters that strongly approve minus % of same demographic that strongly disapprove) is -10!!
+2s for all today's posts!
http://www.rasmussenreports.com/public_content/politics/obama_administration/daily_presidential_tracking_poll