The Slashed Wrist

"I tell ya, I can't remember the last time the right flipper worked on this fuckin' thing. Hey, Frank! Why don'tcha buy a new friggin' pinball machine? This one's been here longer than Sammy, an' he's been here longer than that rusty rubber dispenser in the john! Christ. Speakin' of the john, I never noticed how much this draft beer tastes like piss. Hey, Frank! When was the last time ya cleaned out the lines for the draft beer? You want us all ta get hepatitus or somethin'? I'll sue, ya know! I don't care what my tab is. I'm not endin' up in the hospital cuz of some crappy booze! Not unless I drink myself there first. Jeezus! I can't even see the goddamn ball. Frank! There's about an inch of shit on the glass of this game! I can't even see the bumpers when they decide to light up! How am I supposed ta win a free game under these conditions? Hell, there's a good inch of crud covering everything in this pit, including most of the sorry bastards up on the bar.

"I don't know why the hell I come ta this joint. It constantly smells like puke, the jukebox only plays three different songs, and half of the lights don't work. Just as well. Who knows what you'd see on the floor in this shithole. Probably a dead body under that corner booth.

"Whatever happened to Pietro, Frank? He was an okay guy, y'know? Sure, he was ugly as sin and smelled like sulphur, and he had black teeth, but he was alright. Whaddaya expect, the guy worked at the plant there for at least twenty years. Ever since he got here. Never once saw him with a woman. Not once. That's enough ta drive a man over the paverbial edge. 'Course, the Slashed Wrist ain't really the place ta meet the ladies, now is it, Frank? Why don'tcha clean up this place a little? Huh? I'll help ya! In exchange for, say, a new tab? Fix the holes in the wall by the front door. God, no wonder nobody ever sticks their head in this place. Like stickin' your head in an oven, know what I'm sayin'? The outside looks just as bad as the inside! The front window is brown, fer chrissakes. Brown sunlight. That's what shines on us, brown and gray sunlight. When it's not raining, that is. Then, at least the outside gets a little cleaning.

"You alright, Frank? Ya look a little green. And yellow, too. I know it's not just the horrible lighting in here. Not much of a selection for booze back there, huh? A bottle of vodka, two bottles of whiskey...when's the last time ya stocked the bar? Yeah, I know Frank, I know. Times are tough everywhere. Even for them college graduates. I tell ya, I sure as shit am glad I didn't waste four or five years of my life on a diploma only ta have nothing ta show for it. Yeah, times are tough. And all a guy wants is a little booze ta help him forget.

"Don't worry, Frank. Business'll pick up. It's almost payday."


-taken from "Black Thanksgiving"