Friday Nights

Every Thursday, as I go about my usual Thursday routine, at some random point I come to the startling realization that Friday is quickly approaching and with it, comes the opportunity to let loose and relieve the stresses of the grueling work week. When this realization comes crashing through my cerebellum, I often experience a moment of sheer panic and terror. I imagine you're probably asking yourself, "Why on earth would I panic at the thought of an approaching Friday??" (I am saying this under the unlikely assumption that someone is actually reading what I'm writing now.) Well, the answer, of course, is that due to my procrastinating nature, I almost always fail to plan any type of weekend activity, thus leaving me home alone on a Friday night, anxiously rifling through the contents of my medicine cabinet, searching for some type of syrup, pill, or elixir that will give me the self-confidence needed to pull out my old little black book and dial every single ex-girlfriend I've ever had, furiously slamming down the phone as soon as I hear a voice on the other end of the line. To my extreme dismay, horror, and blinding jealousy, ninety percent of the telephone numbers I dial are answered by male voices, who I assume to be the new love interests of Becky... and Rhonda... and Susan... and Katie...and the other Rhonda...and Eliza... and for God's sake, even Mildred, the morbidly obese hump-backed-whale-of-a-woman who suffered a previous crippling addiction to diet pills (diet pills that didn't do a damn thing for her hippo-shaped figure whatsoever) while we were seeing each other. I usually react to these male voices by screaming numerous profanities, calling the men's intestinal fortitude into question, and finally violently slamming down the phone in a rage and heaving it out the window with all the might and strength of Zeus himself. On average, I purchase roughly 3 new phones a month. Damn Japanese and their cheap telephone-manufacturing techniques.

Due to my lack of preparation this past weekend, I once again found myself sitting home alone, sipping a half-empty bottle of Listerine. Finally, I stood and emptied the remainder of the Listerine into my champagne glass. I was starting to get a nice buzz. I grabbed my rain poncho and headed out the door to seek out a Friday night adventure.

The rain poured down in sheets as I locked my door and I was glad for the moment that I had remembered to slip into my rain poncho. Now if I could've just remembered to put on a shirt and shoes underneath. No matter though, as I could feel my buzz intensifying from the strong Listerine; it's not JUST for gingivitis-prevention. I chuckled to myself and turned to walk down the front steps of my apartment complex. The steps that lead down from my apartment doors lead directly to the street and they are often frequented by numerous unsavory characters who find the steps to be an ideal place to sit, crack lewd jokes, smoke cigarettes, and harass and ogle young women who are unlucky enough to pass by. I walked down the steps, becoming wetter by the second, but my confidence was high and my buzz was going strong. I wasn't going to let the rain spoil my Friday night.

I strolled down the dim street. Here and there, streetlights were burnt out and a few flickered, threatening to go dark at any moment and add to the already thick shadows along the narrow boulevard. Thunder clapped loudly in the distance, but it was getting closer by the second. I scanned the streets for a diner, an open bar, or a night-club of some kind. Nothing caught my eye. The thunder was directly over my head now and flashes of lightning illuminated the pitch black sky. I realized that the night had become a total loss. I turned and headed back down the street from where I'd come, towards my apartment.

Suddenly, a horrific crash of thunder filled the night sky and I felt as if my eardrums had been shattered. The thunder strike shook me to the core and I fell to my knees. I felt a sharp, burning pain in my stomach and looked down to see my shirt and hands covered in dark crimson. I could see the blood seeping from a wound in my stomach, oozing out from between my fingers, which were covering the hole in my skin. As the rain poured down over my body, which was growing weaker by the second, I raised the champagne glass to my pail lips and emptied the remainder of the Listerine into my mouth. Then my head slumped heavily to the ground, a puddle of mud, garbage, and rainwater forming around my limp body. I was unable to move and as my vision dimmed to blackness, I saw a dark figure step out from behind an old car, pistol in hand. He sauntered over to where I lay and stood over me for a moment, before robbing me of my wallet, my rain poncho, and my keys.

When I woke up, I was still unable to move. I tried to call for help but I was unable to summon the energy to utter anything more than a painful groan. It was morning, the rain had stopped, the sun was breaking out from behind the clouds, and I lay motionless on the side of the road in a pool of rain-water, blood, and garbage. My vision was muddled and blurry and I was unable to move my head to get a better look around me. I lay in such a way that my right arm was outstretched, my fingers still clutching the empty champagne glass.

I listened with a mournful groan as I heard a pedestrian slow his pace as he walked past me. Then, he backtracked and stood over my body. I anticipated another beating or attack of some kind and if my body was able to do so, I would've cringed in horror. In my condition, I didn't know how much more punishment I could take. I waited and tried to summon the rest of my strength to look up at the man and plead for my life, but I was unable to do so. There I lay, waiting for the inevitable.

The pedestrian uttered something unrecognizable to a nearby friend and then I heard the sound of coins dropping into the champagne glass, which was still gripped in my outstretched right hand. Then, the footsteps faded off down the sidewalk.

There's some disturbed part of my mind that wonders whether it was the same man that put a bullet in me the night before, stricken with remorse, and returning to tell me that it wasn't anything personal.

Then again, there's the opposite, sane corner of my mind that wonders how some people can be so kind... and how some can be so fucking cold.