Post by Calvin on Apr 27, 2007 19:41:46 GMT
The cellar of the 'Roadside' Bar was pleasantly cool, and secluded enough to suit it's single occupant just fine, relaxing as he was between two of his shifts. The single naked lightbulb that hung from the center of the roof was unlit, to spare Calvin's eyes the harsh glare it emitted, but everything in the cellar was visible enough by the moonlight streaming in through the little ground height window set into the top of the left wall.
Relaxing, sprawled in his aged deckchair with feet resting atop one of the numerous squat beer barrels, Calvin surveyed the room easily, as his hands busied themselves with their accustomed task - the elaborate work that went into construction of the ideal joint.
As this task dominated half his mind, the other thought out the day, women, drugs and other such complicated philosophical topics. His fingers plucked some crisp green vegetable matter from a little baggy open by his side, and the corners of his mouth raised instantly in happiness at the familiar scent.
Filling the center of the professionally licked trio of elongated cigarette papers, he went about rolling the little beauty. This was more difficult, and not aided in any way by this joint's older brother who'd met a smoky death a little while ago, so his mind concentrated totally on it.
As he bent to the task, something rustled outside, the sound wafting in through the ajar window, from the dark, cool night outside. Joint still raised to his mouth, tongue stuck to the gummy edge of the papers, his eyes fixed upon the window.
Looking suspiciously at the window, he stood slowly, the vague tentacles of paranoia beginning their clutch on his brain. There'd been a lot of talk about aliens in these parts.....
Finally he reached the window, and placing the jay on another beer barrel at his waist, he lifted himself up on the boards, muscles easily holding as they took his weight. Hanging from the rafters as he was, he peered out into the darkness.
There was the normal grouping of cars, and the electric light that illuminated the front of the 'Roadside', and spread an eery elongated slash into the otherwise quite dark car park. Nothing seemed out of place, so he dropped back down, dusting off his trousers when he hit the ground.
*Must have been a dog or something.......*
Shrugging, he lifted the jay once more, finished licking it shut, and patted his pockets for his treasured black & white checked Zippo. Not finding it, he crossed once more to the deckchair, and grinned when he noticed it lying under the chair's red cotton bottom.
Lifting it up to the joint's end, he flicked the lighter back and inhaled deeply, and grinned once more as the oily smoke filled his throat and lungs. Pocketing the Zippo, he re-sealed the baggy and stashed it up in the rafters above the deckchair, where he had been hiding his dope since he'd moved here.
Wandering around the cellar, he checked all the barrels and toked at the joint, and finally Drake, the 'Sunday boy' opened the door up to the bar, filling the cellar with orange light. "You're on, Calvin. I'll catch you for a beer later, yeah?"
Nodding contentedly, Calvin answered as he ensured the joint was totally stubbed out and dropped it into his shirt pocket, which he buttoned up to ensure no-one noticed it. "Yeah, around 1, maybe 2, cool?"
"Yeah, sounds about right. Anyway, later, man." With that, Drake's head vanished from the cellar trapdoor. Straightening his shirt and running one hand through his hair, Calvin stepped up the stairs and out into the bar.
Some of the regulars nodded to him, and he headed down the bar to serve those waiting for a beer, the workings of his brain still pleasantly subdued by the joint's strong effects.
"Alright mate, what's your poison?"
Relaxing, sprawled in his aged deckchair with feet resting atop one of the numerous squat beer barrels, Calvin surveyed the room easily, as his hands busied themselves with their accustomed task - the elaborate work that went into construction of the ideal joint.
As this task dominated half his mind, the other thought out the day, women, drugs and other such complicated philosophical topics. His fingers plucked some crisp green vegetable matter from a little baggy open by his side, and the corners of his mouth raised instantly in happiness at the familiar scent.
Filling the center of the professionally licked trio of elongated cigarette papers, he went about rolling the little beauty. This was more difficult, and not aided in any way by this joint's older brother who'd met a smoky death a little while ago, so his mind concentrated totally on it.
As he bent to the task, something rustled outside, the sound wafting in through the ajar window, from the dark, cool night outside. Joint still raised to his mouth, tongue stuck to the gummy edge of the papers, his eyes fixed upon the window.
Looking suspiciously at the window, he stood slowly, the vague tentacles of paranoia beginning their clutch on his brain. There'd been a lot of talk about aliens in these parts.....
Finally he reached the window, and placing the jay on another beer barrel at his waist, he lifted himself up on the boards, muscles easily holding as they took his weight. Hanging from the rafters as he was, he peered out into the darkness.
There was the normal grouping of cars, and the electric light that illuminated the front of the 'Roadside', and spread an eery elongated slash into the otherwise quite dark car park. Nothing seemed out of place, so he dropped back down, dusting off his trousers when he hit the ground.
*Must have been a dog or something.......*
Shrugging, he lifted the jay once more, finished licking it shut, and patted his pockets for his treasured black & white checked Zippo. Not finding it, he crossed once more to the deckchair, and grinned when he noticed it lying under the chair's red cotton bottom.
Lifting it up to the joint's end, he flicked the lighter back and inhaled deeply, and grinned once more as the oily smoke filled his throat and lungs. Pocketing the Zippo, he re-sealed the baggy and stashed it up in the rafters above the deckchair, where he had been hiding his dope since he'd moved here.
Wandering around the cellar, he checked all the barrels and toked at the joint, and finally Drake, the 'Sunday boy' opened the door up to the bar, filling the cellar with orange light. "You're on, Calvin. I'll catch you for a beer later, yeah?"
Nodding contentedly, Calvin answered as he ensured the joint was totally stubbed out and dropped it into his shirt pocket, which he buttoned up to ensure no-one noticed it. "Yeah, around 1, maybe 2, cool?"
"Yeah, sounds about right. Anyway, later, man." With that, Drake's head vanished from the cellar trapdoor. Straightening his shirt and running one hand through his hair, Calvin stepped up the stairs and out into the bar.
Some of the regulars nodded to him, and he headed down the bar to serve those waiting for a beer, the workings of his brain still pleasantly subdued by the joint's strong effects.
"Alright mate, what's your poison?"
