A Story of Revenge

My cell phone was in the inside pocket of my trench coat.  I was lying in the bed across the room, and I had no intention of getting up to see who was calling.  That phone never had good news on the other end.  Nobody loved me, and nobody wanted to tell me they did.  The broad laying next to me shoved me in the ribs to let me know the phone was ringing.  I guess she thought I was as good at hearing as I was a lover.  In that case it would stop ringing in about fifteen seconds too.
         I let it ring.  Another shot in the ribs.  It rang again, and before she could hit me again, I lifted my leg and farted.  Like a shot out of a gun she leapt up from the bed in a rage.  That’s when I knew I had to leave.  Fucking phone.
         I finished tying my shoes and stood up.  The brunette was sitting up in the bed smoking a cigarette.  Her knees were pulled into her chest, making the sheet into a tent.  She flicked the ashes into the ceramic bowl that teetered on her legs.  She was looking towards the television, but she wasn’t watching it.  She was mad and trying to figure out how she wound up in bed with me.  I wanted to know how I fooled her into sleeping with me.
         She was pretty for a drunk.  She was young and still had a bit of hope left.  If she could lay off the sauce and stop chain smoking she could be a pretty young lady.  I looked her up and down with a smirk and her blank expression turned to a snarl.  I told her what
I thought, and she told me to go fuck myself.  I was dressed and ready to go.  I told her that I would find my way out, seeing as how I already fucked her, and tired her all out.  I heard the ceramic bowl smash off the wall as I pulled the door shut.
         I made my way through the building over the garbage and bums that had collected on the floor.  The halls smelled of piss and booze and when I got outside I crossed the street and it still smelled of piss and booze.  I loved a hot summer night in the East Village.  It was late, probably after two and there was still the New York bustle. Police cars and ambulances flew by with their lights swirling and sirens blaring into the night. The garbage trucks lumbered along the avenue like smelly elephants, screeching their air-breaks every few feet.  It was a cacophony of sights and sounds, and I felt at home.
         I wasn’t really sure how I wound up in the Village, but I was pretty sure that me and the feisty brunette were drinking somewhere near by.  She was too broke to pay for a cab, and I was too cheap.  It didn’t really matter how I wound up here.  I got drunk and laid.  It was a good night.  Now the trick was finding my way home.  I reached in my pocket and found eight dollars.  That was enough for a cup of coffee and a five dollar MetroCard.  On Third Avenue I found an open bodega.  The clerk was a nice Indian fellow that let me use the pisser after I made my purchase.
         I walked down Third Avenue towards St. Mark’s Place, figuring that I might find some more fun before I made my way home.  It was late, and that was the best time to find the kind of fun that doesn’t cost much cash, but you paid for dearly in other ways.  I must have just missed the fun because as I passed the McDonald’s and hit the corner I could see the cops putting the winners in squad cars and the losers into ambulances.  It looked as though I missed the excitement.  I made my way to the bus stop and waited for the M15 to take me to the Staten Island Ferry.