oldbabyface
Posts: 56
Joined: 7/13/2010
From: West Midlands, UK
Status: offline
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It was eleven o'clock in morning. Mid-October and it was shining bright. What happened to the hard wet rain? Anyhow, I was wearing my powder-blue track-suit, with dark blue T-shirt, black trainers (halfway through polishing I'd realised I didn't own any brogues), black wool socks with ventilation holes. I was shaved (hence the small pieces of toilet paper stuck to my face) and sober (well fairly sober, sort of). All topped off with some after-shave brought from a street trader. I was everything the crime-fiction addict thought he ought to be. I was calling on a first date.
The bar was the swankiest joint in town. Once upon a time. I couldn't see much upon entering, tripped on a stair and crashed into a table occupied by some burly rugby players. So I decided the thick, black shades did little for my image. I tossed them aside and a man on crutches slipped on them. Fortunately the rugby players were too drunk to punch straight and ended up hitting one another instead of me. The doorman came over to investigate before running off to hide in the toliets. As ever Willy was vainly trying to sing along with the juke box, it had been repossessed months ago.
After crawling a few metres I stood up and made my way to the bar. I asked the guy behind the bar why there was a lot of sawdust on the floor. 'Last night's furniture,' he told me. I told him to give me a scotch and I handed him a tenner. He jumped over the bar and ran out the door. Then the barman came up and asked me what I wanted to drink.
I brought a coke and looked round. After we had exchanged a few e-mails I suggested meeting up at this place. It was unusual in that it was the only boozer in town where I wasn't barred.
My previous date hadn't gone so good. She had said she would come on a second date with me but only on the strict condition that I brought her a couple of tins of striped paint. Well, I tried every paint shop in town and got nothing but funny looks.
She was nearing the door when I finally saw her. I called out and she looked around. We sat down at a table to talk. After she had three shorts and I had three shandies, she asked me what my friends thought of me. I pulled myself up from underneath the table.
'I dunno I haven't got any,' I replied.
'Look, I'm a bit pushed for time,' she told me. 'Call me tomorrow.' She passed me a slip of paper and left.
After that it was a bit of a blur. I remember waking up early, very early as it was unusually hot. I had been smoking a cigarette when I collapsed onto the bed and now it was on fire. Thirty seconds later I leapt out of bed. To hand was an old fire extinguisher. So old in fact it didn't work. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed the bowl from the sink. I threw the contents onto the fire - cultery and plates and not the water I had hoped for.
Back in the kitchen I filled the bowl with water and charged back into the bedroom. Finally I put out the fire and went into the living room. I pushed off the Raymond Chandler novels off the coffee table and saw the piece of paper she had given me. The number looked sort of familiar. I haven't been disconnected as yet so I decided to give it ago.
'Hello Samaritians?' That's why the number was so familiar.
'Oh hi.'
'Craps not you again,' She slammed the phone.
Bored I logged onto the Internet................
_____________________________
Truth is so hard to tell, it sometimes needs fiction to make it plausible.
Francis Bacon
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Calling on a first date. - 
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RE: Calling on a first date. - 
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