Joe's Liquor
July 29, 2008
"I'm gonna let you in on something, I'm gonna be honest." Ken said. He was leaning in heavily, a hand on Mark's shoulder. "I got a little bit of an alcohol problem, you know? Sometimes I just really got to have it."
"I understand," Mark said smiling, "everybody's got something."
Ken was black, a horse of a man with short broad fingers, dark red eyes and a rutted face. There was a third man, blacker than Ken, straddling a bicycle woozily. His wild hair came out from under his hat.
"What's your name?" Mark said. He took his big, dry hand. The man tottered silently.
"What's your friends name?" Mark looked at Ken.
"Jon. That's Jon. He's a quiet one, don't say much. Never has really."
"Mark," said the white one, shaking his hand, "good to meet you."
Jon leaned far and his leg jerked to support him. His face smiled.
Marked leaned against the wall. It was dark, the light from Joe's Liquor poured out onto the sidewalk some twenty yards down the street. Yesterday Mark had seen the cops lock up a couple of guys hanging around the door to Joe's. Tonight, everyone was keeping their distance.
"You got kids?" Mark asked Ken, who still had a hand on his shoulder.
"Boy I had it all! I had me a wife, three - four kids, I had a, a bank account. I had it all. Now I ain't got nothin'. Not a damn thing. I got goals though. I got some goals." Ken fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it.
"How old are your kids?" Mark asked.
"Shit. Old. Older n' you. How old are you?"
"Twenty five." Mark smiled.
"Twenty five? You's just a kid is what you are. I'm fifty four years old! All my kids are grown now, all working or schooling or something."
"Shit, you don't look it, fifty four I mean." Mark said honestly. Ken laughed really loud and took two steps running in a tight circle. He ended smiling big with white teeth, his hand on Mark's shoulder.
"I don't look it, he says! You are too kind!" Ken looked at Jon, pointing at Mark. "I think we're friends now! He is too kind."
"I'm not kind," Mark said, "I'm an asshole. Don't get me wrong, I can be good. Everybody's an asshole sometimes though. I'm sure you are too." He sounded serious. Ken was still smiling big, his thick skinned face folding in on his eyes.
"You're kind tonight." He put his cigarette in his mouth and it glowed, then he blew smoke at the ground.
"Another day, I might of seen you down at 16th or something, and I might have just ignored you if you tried to talk to me." Mark said, lighting a cigarette of his own. Jon swung a leg over the bike he had been straddling, with great difficulty. He put the kick stand down.
"We're friends now though." Said Ken, looking at Mark.
"I know it. How do you make it out here?"
"Boy let me tell you something. Anybody on the street in Colorado tells you he's hungry, he's a liar is what he is. Don't nobody go hungry in Colorado. There's so many churches and missions and other christians giving people food. There's even some people aren't christians giving people food. You know how your belly feels? That's how mine feels too. Nobody goes hungry in Colorado."
"You make any money?" Mark asked.
"A bit you know. Saint Judes, they got that list you know, for workers. I can make me a hundred and forty bucks working a day or two. They only got work a few times a month though. It's not bad. Look at me, I wear good clothes. My bellies full." Ken was leaning, his shoulders stooped around his thick neck. Jon was looking on, hazily following the conversation.
"Are you happy?"
"Well I'm not that sad, you know. I know that I have goals, that I'm gonna get my ID back, and then I'll go right back and be salesmen, Boy I tell you what, I'm a hell of a salesmen. I can sell anybody anything whether they want it or not, I tell ya. I met this boy the other day, he told me that when I'm on my feet I could work for him, sellin' them vacuums you know." Ken was rifling distracted through his wallet. "You see there!" He smiled bright and held a business card out to Mark. It had a silhouette of a vacuum on it. "You see? That'll be me, yessir." Mark looked at the card, took it, and handed it back.
"It's good you're not that sad," he started, "but I mean, are you happy?"
"I tell you what," Ken said sternly, "I raised three boys and a girl. None of them have been in trouble, by God. None of that faggoty gang shit, no cops, nothing. You tell me that isn't a job well done. You tell me."
"That's awesome." Mark said. A different guy would have been intimidated.
Jon tottered again. A woman and a man walked by, raggedy and poorly clothed. The woman's face was covered in lines, and her teeth were bad. She walked up to Ken and hugged him long.
"Hey baby!" Ken said, "How you been?"
"Alright, alright." She hugged tighter then let go. "How have you been?"
"'Bout as good as I can get!" Ken was smiling big and looking her in the eye. The woman's companion hadn't stopped, and she looked his direction.
"Well, I'll see ya." She said. She didn't even acknowledge Mark. After she was a ways away, Ken looked at Mark grinning big.
"I tell you what boy, you get them clothes off, she still does got a body! A fine body! Boy, she got a looker of a body. Some 'a them girls, they keep their shape on account of the crack, you know?"
Mark became serious.
"I hate that shit. Crack will ruin your life." He threw his cigarette down and twisted his foot on it. Ken took a drag from his, smoking it to the filter. He leaned in closer to Mark.
"Alcohol will ruin your life too, boy. Come on, Jon." Jon moved shakily getting back on his bike. He looked at Mark and spoke thickly, choking the words out.
"You got beer?"
Ken put his arm around Jon, "Come on now Jon, let him alone. We're having a good night, let him alone."
Tags for this piece: story city strangers alcohol