He stumbled down the street with his eyes half closed, blood flowing with a bottle of Jack and a couple Advil. Creeping up to the car he fumbled with his keys for a couple seconds trying to figure out which of the keys went to his car.
“House, Other House, Work, Office, Filing Cabinet”
Oh shit, this isn’t his car. Walked a little further, a little more. Ah, here is it. A Burgundy 1984 Ford LTD. He ripped open the door and started it up. Revved the engine a little bit, acting like it wasn’t an automatic, popped it into drive and putted home, it was only a mile or two up the road so he got there in just a few minutes.
Third floor. What bullshit. ”I bet my family are sleeping well in their 1st floor beds tonight..”
He did zigzags into the room, brushed her off and passed out.
——
Goddamn life. Getting him down. He walked to the nearest payphone, put in a dime and dialed nine-seven-nine-seven-three-eight-zero. ”Hey guys, how are you tonight?”… ”Fuck football players!”… “Do you think John Elway could tell you what one plus one is?”… “Can you tell me what it is?”… “You’re an idiot, you’re so stupid.”
He went back to that fucking third floor, and picked up the goddamn phone, the clock read eleven:fiftyseven. He dialed again nine-seven-nine-seven-three-eight-zero. ”My dime ran out. I’m calling you from home”…
He did zigzags into the room, brushed her off and passed out.
——
It was another working Saturday. Woke up on the couch this morning, passed out last night here with a bottle next to him and the candle was burnt all the way down. ”Wish the damn thing would have burnt me and the damn place down last night”, he thought.
He got to the office. She’d dropped him off this morning and he was standing outside, looked like he’d been there maybe 15 minutes.
“We’re painting today, son!”
“Cool. What color?”
“Blue! Of course!”
They went inside. It was nearing noon and that goddamn kid hadn’t gotten much of anything done. He was on the third door and hadn’t even finished sweeping. Probably fucking with that fucking piece of shit computer. He walked out of his office.
He stared at that little shit with his painfully blue eyes and gritted his teeth, he was sitting right there not even paying attention to the doors, the vacuum, nothing. He picked up the hammer and hit the counter as hard as he could, leaving a divot in the counter roughly the size of a half-dollar.
“What the fuck are you doing? Do you think you’re here so you can sit on the fucking computer all day? Do you think I’m paying you to sit there all day?”
“I’m… I’m sorry, Dad. I’m waiting for the door to dry. I just checked it, it’s not dry yet.”
Laying his hand on the door and picking it back up he said, “It seems pretty dry to me.”
“It wasn’t when I checked last time, I’ll finish it” said the boy, standing up.
He hit the counter again, this time in a different spot. The little fucker cowered under the counter and then ran to the back room.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
He walked into the back room an saw him fiddling with the lock, trying to get out. He started walking back, ”Stop running away!” The boy got the door open, lifted the pole and ran into the crisp fall air, backed up against the fence in the corner. He’d gotten that cell phone out and was calling someone. Who the fuck knew who he was calling. He was sniffling and saying something about a hammer.
He turned around, locked the back door and walked back to his office.
Five Minutes.
Ten Minutes.
There she was, she walked into the back and opened up the door. She’s probably letting him back in. He bashed a hole in the door, bashed a hole in the wall, another on that fucker’s desk. Threatening to kill himself with the hammer, weeping and talking like a little boy he finally realized it was time to stop.
She took them both back to that third floor piece of shit.
He did zigzags into the room, brushed her off and passed out.