Better Day Tomorrow

Walking the streets and not going home after work has become a regular routine for me lately, and I always seem to find myself standing at the front door of this roach-infested-shit-hole of a bar. Its creaking floors and nasty smelling bathrooms has become my sanctuary, and the smell of stale beer and ashtrays has become my aroma of choice. Perhaps this place is slowly killing me, who cares, certainly not me. Though if I look on the bright side maybe this shit-hole one day will end up being my saving grace, but I wouldn’t count on it. I can't really explain it but I find comfort here oddly enough and I’m not sure why that is. Its not like I have any friends that hang out here. No, everyone kind of keeps to themselves as they fondle their drink of choice. Pathetic maybe, but I guess their all sorting out their own disappointing lives. Who am l too judge?





Inside the bar nobody really talks to me. Odd for all the nights I’ve spent here wasting my life away, but then again I don’t say much to anyone either. To hell with em the way I see it. I’m here for the beer anyway. Gazing up to the clock on the stained-colored wall I see it’s about to strike midnight; another day down. If only there was something new about it; something I could hang my ball cap on, but then why would it be? I didn’t strike it rich on the market today so I still got no money, real money that is, and I didn't get promoted from off the front register so I still got no dignity. Christ, I don’t even have a date tonight, but do I ever? So here I am back at the bar with my ass propped up on the corner stool as usual. I should have my name carved in to it for all the times I’m perched here. My name carved in to it; that-a-be a hoot. God I hate my life. Clarence Pickelton. God I hate my name, but tomorrow will be a better day. Yea, tomorrow will be a better day.





Maybe at this time I should tell you a little bit about myself cause I'm sure you're wondering. My name is Clarence Pickelton but you already knew that. I'm thirty years old and I still live at home with my mom and dad in a house seems my entire life. Same room, same bed, same everything. I know, I shouldn't complain... right. I should be grateful for at least having a roof over my head? I hear it all the time. Not sure why but I don’t see it that way. To be honest I would love to get my own place and get out from under their wing, but working for minimum wage makes that kinda hard to do. I would  love to also have a girlfriend, but then that seems even harder. It’s not that I'm embarrassed living at home or the fact that I make the salary of a teenager; that's not the reason I don't ask girls out. We all can’t be Rockefeller’s. It’s the simple fact that I'm just scared to death of women, and that I don’t have a car. I tell myself it’s because of the car but then I’m only fooling myself. I’m a thirty year old loser with no upside. So you can see why I'm a little pissed off at the world and drinking at this bar every night. There is one other thing I forgot to mention; I'm still a virgin, but don’t feel pity for me, because by tomorrow all that’s gonna change. Yea, all that’s gonna change.





Her name is Carla that I’ve set my sights on. She's the waitress at this shit-hole of a bar, but let's be fair about it, this shit-hole does have a name. Charlie’s, she's the waitress at Charlie's. Not sure if she’s ever noticed but I stare at her relentlessly throughout the night and fantasize, but not like a stalker or anything like that. I'm not a stalker. Sitting here and thinking about how to approach her has put me in a trance and I don't notice Benny the bartender who's crept up on me, and he startles me.



"Boy, what jew havin tonight?" he ask in his slang tongue.



I answer back when my heart settles, "Gin and tonic with a shot of whiskey."



Throwing a dish rag over his shoulder he asks me. "Why is it you always in here? Young man like you should be out pulling pussy stead of wasting time in this shit-hole of a bar."



I laugh to myself at his reference to the bar but I'm not laughing at his question. If only he knew, but I answer back to him, or should I say, lie. "Dude, I come in here to get away from all the women and all. Only place I know where I can get a break from em always hanging on me and shit."



"I feel ya my man," he says as he throws the rag to his other shoulder. Before he walks away however, he adds, "Drinks will be right up."



Thank god he's gone I think to myself. Now I can go back staring at Carla, but before I start fantasizing again a couple catches my eye in a corner booth. I focus my attention now on them. I haven’t seen em in here before. Probably won't again for that matter. They must be in love, or else cheaters. They're sitting on the same side of the booth talking. If only I could hear what they’re saying. I imagine their words in my mind. I watch them and I wonder what it feels like to be in love. Maybe tonight I’ll find out. I smile and turn away from the couple and look back over to Carla to begin staring at her yet again. God, again, maybe I am a stalker.





My gin and tonic arrives along with the shot and I take out the lime. I tell Benny all the time that I don't like lime with my gin and tonics but he always brings it to me with the lime in it anyway. I'm tired of complaining so I just take it out. It's really no big deal. I glance back up to find Carla and I notice she's looking my way and I'm pretty sure she just smiled at me. It could be my imagination but then it doesn't matter if it was or wasn't, because tonight she's mine. It’s time I make my move and finally feel what love can be. Because I know tonight things are gonna change for me. yea, tonight things are gonna change.





I take my shot of whiskey and slam it down the ol’ pipes and then slam the shot glass back down on the bar. I convince myself that I feel like John Wayne or Humphrey Bogart and I begin my stride over to her, and I'm feeling damn good about it. My palms however begin to sweat and my heart begins to race like they always do, and now, I start feeling like the coward that I know I am. Not tonight dammit I tell myself, be a man for once. I continue on until I reach her and she turns around. We exchange chatter for a bit but to no avail, she's not interested, but I can’t really blame her. She sees a pathetic guy in here all the time whose drinking his minimum wage away. I'm sure she's waiting for a doctor or a lawyer to come sweep her off her feet but good luck with that, because she's really not that pretty, at all. It’s funny, but every time I get turned down they always get less prettier. I'm better off anyway. I pay my tab and grab my coat. Shit; down to my last twenty. I guess I’m lucky my parents don't charge me rent. Speaking of them, its time I get home, don't like keeping em up worrying. Besides, the stock truck gets in early tomorrow and I need to be there to help unload.



As I walk in the house my parents are fast asleep in their favorite chairs with the television blasting away, as usual. Just another night for em. Slipping past I turn off the T.V and head upstairs to my bedroom and shutting my door tightly behind me. As I toss my belongings on to the dresser I notice an old familiar friend. A playboy magazine. I fall back on the bed and glance through it as I turn my attention to a poster that hangs on my ceiling over my bed. It's a picture of a swedish super model seductively posing and beckoning me to take her and make love to her. So I do without regrets, as I fantasize and masturbate to her image. Another night down.



Crawling under the covers I look back up to the ceiling knowing; knowing that tomorrow will be a better day. Yea, pretty sure tomorrow will be a better day.