The Inexorable Whims of a Summer Chicago Wind Pt.4

The Inexorable Whims of a Summer Chicago Wind Pt.4

By Brian K. Jones

Part Four

Around noon the next day I woke to find a note on the table next to the couch stating that I should stay until my friend came back from running a few errands.  She expressed a desire to catch up and reacquaint.  It occurred to me that we had done enough of that last night so I just hailed a taxi.

I used my cell phone to call the hotel and get the address and soon enough a middle eastern guy was taking me back to my hotel while the high pitched music of his people surgically cut through my temples like mean little scalpels.  People are always playing music they like for the rest of the uninitiated to like or dismiss.

My peripheral vision caught glimpses of the city as we drove towards my destination.  Some of it was beautiful and some of it rather ugly; they say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions but I think it’s mostly just paved with people.  People always forget that they’re just human when they’re riding the road to hell. Continue reading

The Inexorable Whims of a Summer Chicago Wind Pt.3

On it goes…

The Inexorable Whims of a Summer Chicago Wind

By Brian K. Jones

Part 3

It was pretty easy to sneak out of the hospital.  Around midnight while the nurses were changing shifts I took the IV out of my arm and found my clothes in the dresser.  I went down the elevator unnoticed and walked by the main admitting desk like I owned the place.  If you pretend you should be doing something everyone usually plays along.

Once I got out side I walked about of a quarter mile to a bar me and the guys from work sometimes frequented.  When I walked in the music stopped and I looked at all of the people and they looked at me.  The music started again and then they turned back to what they were doing.

I ordered up a craft and sat and sipped it for a while.  I made some small talk with the bartender and forgot that I was dying for a while.  I called up one of the guys from work and he said he would come down to meet me.  Good friends will always come and meet you when you really need them.

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The Inexorable Whims of A Summer Chicago Wind Pt. 2

The Story Continues…

The Inexorable Whims of A Summer Chicago Wind(pt.2)

By Brian K. Jones

Part Two

 

There was work again the next day.  I went there with the same indifference I do pretty much every day now.  I used to get mad about the things that happened there and sometimes I’d get encouraged.  Now it was just like relieving myself, something I happened to do regularly.

The day went by like one of a thousand.  Nothing bad happened and nothing good happened.  It just kind of unfolded blandly. The only time I got excited was when I got to eat soup at my desk alone, no one bothered me.

After work I went down to the pub with guys.  We drank the crafts and talked about opening up our own brewing company.  This was a long running fantasy that seemed like it would never happen for a variety of reasons.  It was still fun to talk about.  People are always dreaming about things that won’t really happen.

The bartender was in her middle twenties and very attractive.  When she would ask me if I wanted another beer it seemed like she smiled and flirted with me a lot.  That made me feel really good until I saw her do it to everyone else.  Sometimes girls don’t know how manipulative they’re being.

I sipped at the crafts and we talked and joked for about an hour and a half.  Then some other guys came in, they were all handsome and sharply dressed.  The bartender gave them an extra dose of the flirts and I got depressed.  Not that I blamed her, I couldn’t compete with those guys.  People and circumstances are always making me feel bad about myself.

I excused myself from the fun and went back to the apartment.  I made a lean cuisine frozen pizza and ate about half of it; partly because it was gross and partly because I didn’t want to eat anything on account of having to compete with those handsome, fashionable guys.

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New Short Story… The Art of Distraction

The Art of Distraction

By Brian K. Jones

All of the rubberneck souls slowed down the late afternoon traffic as they stared off into the red and blue lights on the shoulder of the road.  Everything in this world seemingly serves as a god-damned distraction from what should really matter; the fallacy of that notion being that I couldn’t quite muster up just what it was that mattered.

Love, family, honor, god, selflessness; they all had inherent flaws and if you examined anything close enough you knew that the erroneous nature of being human corrupted just about everything you touched or pondered.

I turned up the music in the rental car and gutted through the traffic to make it to a micro brew.  It was god-damned agony.

When I got there I lit a smoke in the designated smoking area outside of the bar.  While I tried to ready myself for the phony salutations and head nods I’d have to give the staff I saw a woman walking twenty feet from me as she headed into the bar.  She gave me a dirty look and waved the air in front of her face as if my smoke was somehow travelling directly into her.  She pulled her fur coat tight to her chest and braved through the terrible inconvenience of me having dared lit up a cigarette with in eye shot.  I put my smoke in the ash tray and looked down.

“Fuck.” I said aloud, defeated.

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The Inexorable Whims of a Summer Chicago Wind

This is the first part of a large story I’m working on.  I hope you enjoy the first part.  More coming soon.

The Inexorable Whims of a Summer Chicago Wind

 

By Brian K. Jones

 

Part One

People tell me that every scale is different, that you should always weigh yourself on the same scale because you can’t trust another scale’s measurement.  I’m told each one is calibrated differently and the “True Zeros” are different.  People are always trying to tell you inane shit like that.

Now that I’m on my own I don’t have a scale.  I don’t want to get another one because I’m not sure I can trust it.

My ex-wife doesn’t hate me exactly; it’s more that she just doesn’t love me.  For a time, I thought that would be ok but it wasn’t.  I left a while ago and now I live in a furnished apartment above a hair salon in a fairly small town outside of Chicago.  I go to work, sometimes I think the people there hate me, sometimes I think they like me.  Sometimes I hate them, sometimes I like them.  I get lonely quite often but I don’t really like being around other people.

I’m trying to be a better man.  Trying to drink less, work out more, and minimize my nicotine and sodium intake.  Sometimes I think its simple self preservation, which makes me feel selfish.

If I had a brush with which to paint a better life, I’d stare at the canvas for a long time before just quitting altogether.

People keep telling me to go out more, they tell me to try and meet someone.  People are always trying to give you advice like that.

I might go out tonight, but first I’m going to take a nap.

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