The Conclusion of Chapter One
So I know you all have been waiting with bated breath (ha, ha) here's the conclusion of Chapter One.
The interesting thing about Travis is that Travis is a very smart person. I think he is resigned to the fact that college is just about his last chance to go wild. Which is interesting, because Travis is in love. Travis loves Collene. Before Collene, Travis loved Karen and before Karen, I’m not really sure because he just refers to her as “the ex.” “The ex” still keeps in touch. I know this because whenever the ex shows up on his instant message program he utters a loud groanal, “FUCK.” Apparently “the ex” is still very much in love with Travis. I am not in love with anyone. Some people say I’m in love with myself, but those people are assholes and I hate them.
It’s Wednesday night and Travis and I are sitting at home with the last remaining Corona. I am very upset because we don’t have limes and Travis isn’t motivated enough to go get in his car.
“You’ve got legs asshole, either go drive my car or fuckin walk. Quit bitching.”
“Fuck you.”
I walk back into our little excuse for a kitchen and glance at the clock on the wall. It is one of a few things that isn’t broken in our house. When I say our house, I mean a two bedroom one bathroom one mini-living room and pitiful excuse for a kitchen, “house.” I love it. I’m a messy person, and since the house encourages my messiness, the house and I get along real well.
The clock reads 7 o’clock. I look at Travis. He isn’t drunk.
“Get in the car, we’re getting beer.”
He begins to stir. “Did you call the girls?”
I hadn’t, but I lied anyway. “Yes, they are all coming, including the hot blonde from math class.” The last part was true; I had invited her on the way out of class. Apparently, two shots of liquid courage transforms me into James Bond. Hurray for Bacardi.
Travis’s car is a white Passat. The trunk is always full of whatever Travis and I are drinking. It has been the vessel of many an adventure. It now sits in a junkyard somewhere, the interior scorched. I miss it.
This night we show up at the local Drive Thru liquor store to find the store empty. I mean deserted fuckin empty. We are in a hurry so we walk around behind the counter and start yelling for someone to fuckin help us.
“Hey Jose, or Jorge, or whatever the fuckin Saint you’re named after, get your ass out here and get me some beer.” Don’t separate a man between him and his drink.
I had taken two shots in the car and was in no mood for games. I looked at Travis and we both knew what had to be done.
Fifteen minutes and four trips later, the car was filled with 15 handles, and 10 cases of beer. We left a twenty dollar bill on the counter. I never knew where the fuck Jose wandered off to, but I imagine he passed out in the bathroom. His job sucked and I don’t blame him.
Heading south on the 405 Travis and I were in business. I took Travis’s cell phone and began to dial. Party time.
The interesting thing about Travis is that Travis is a very smart person. I think he is resigned to the fact that college is just about his last chance to go wild. Which is interesting, because Travis is in love. Travis loves Collene. Before Collene, Travis loved Karen and before Karen, I’m not really sure because he just refers to her as “the ex.” “The ex” still keeps in touch. I know this because whenever the ex shows up on his instant message program he utters a loud groanal, “FUCK.” Apparently “the ex” is still very much in love with Travis. I am not in love with anyone. Some people say I’m in love with myself, but those people are assholes and I hate them.
It’s Wednesday night and Travis and I are sitting at home with the last remaining Corona. I am very upset because we don’t have limes and Travis isn’t motivated enough to go get in his car.
“You’ve got legs asshole, either go drive my car or fuckin walk. Quit bitching.”
“Fuck you.”
I walk back into our little excuse for a kitchen and glance at the clock on the wall. It is one of a few things that isn’t broken in our house. When I say our house, I mean a two bedroom one bathroom one mini-living room and pitiful excuse for a kitchen, “house.” I love it. I’m a messy person, and since the house encourages my messiness, the house and I get along real well.
The clock reads 7 o’clock. I look at Travis. He isn’t drunk.
“Get in the car, we’re getting beer.”
He begins to stir. “Did you call the girls?”
I hadn’t, but I lied anyway. “Yes, they are all coming, including the hot blonde from math class.” The last part was true; I had invited her on the way out of class. Apparently, two shots of liquid courage transforms me into James Bond. Hurray for Bacardi.
Travis’s car is a white Passat. The trunk is always full of whatever Travis and I are drinking. It has been the vessel of many an adventure. It now sits in a junkyard somewhere, the interior scorched. I miss it.
This night we show up at the local Drive Thru liquor store to find the store empty. I mean deserted fuckin empty. We are in a hurry so we walk around behind the counter and start yelling for someone to fuckin help us.
“Hey Jose, or Jorge, or whatever the fuckin Saint you’re named after, get your ass out here and get me some beer.” Don’t separate a man between him and his drink.
I had taken two shots in the car and was in no mood for games. I looked at Travis and we both knew what had to be done.
Fifteen minutes and four trips later, the car was filled with 15 handles, and 10 cases of beer. We left a twenty dollar bill on the counter. I never knew where the fuck Jose wandered off to, but I imagine he passed out in the bathroom. His job sucked and I don’t blame him.
Heading south on the 405 Travis and I were in business. I took Travis’s cell phone and began to dial. Party time.
posted by greg at 1:20 AM
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