If Awoken, Please Go
Back to Sleep
by
John Patrick
Robbins
I picked
up my
usual poison and the weirdo behind the counter looked at the asshole across the
counter and for some odd reason thought I desired conversation.
“Planning
on a big
weekend, pal?"
I looked
at the
former drunkard, a now angry nutcase, working a liquor store of all places and
had to question his logic until I thought, I am a magazine editor and yet I
hate writers.
I decided
to
entertain my unhappy liquor merchant's question.
"Nope,
this
is just my norm, brother."
The guy
who
resembled a featherless pelican looked at me in shock.
"Dude,
you
mean to tell me you go through two half-gallons of bourbon a fucking
week?"
"I mean,
only
when I'm taking it easy."
The man
whose name
tag read “Randy” shook his head.
"You gotta
be
drinking these with friends or else you better start drinking them in the
cemetery to save you the trip, man.”
"Actually,
I
rather enjoy drinking in the cemetery."
"You're
fucking with me. Come on."
"Nope,
I am
dead serious, man, I mean, no pun intended."
The guy
I seldom
heard speak let alone laugh cracked up.
"All right,
well, what about your still-breathing friends?”
I paused
for a
moment as the gangly, pissed-off former brother of the bottle handed me my
booze and receipt.
"Well,
if I
see those cocksuckers in the cemetery, that will give me truly a reason to
celebrate. Shit, do you all sell shovels? I might be so happy from those pricks
turning blue, I may just help bury their sorry asses or dig up a cold one just
for laughs.”
Randy,
the
guardian of the liquor, didn't get my humor as apparently, I'm banned for life
from that said fine-spirited location.
Seems everyone's
a
damned critic these days.
Cheers.
John
Patrick Robbins, is a southern gothic writer.
His
work has appeared in Horror Sleaze Trash, Disturb the Universe, Punk Noir
Magazine, Piker Press, Fixator Press, SAVA Press, Lothlorien Poetry Journal,
Spill The Words, Schlock Magazine, and The Dope Fiend Daily.
His
work is often dark and always unfiltered.
