I'm in a bar. I see him. The wheels and gears start a-turnin'. I pull out a pen. What follows is the flow. I don't stop for thesaurus look-ups so I underline them. It's rough but it's down. And that is half the battle.
Lester is a happily married man. Well, not exactly happily. No, not exactly at all. Maribel has been coming home later and later every night since she started her new job. She had never, in the eleven years of marriage expressed interest in anything other than... wanted to work so Lester found it unusual when upon returning home from her weekly somesortof game at her sisters one night, she promptly declared "I think I should start working again." "Again?" Lester asked increduously and then immediately bit his tounge. But she wasn't mad, which was surprising considering she had been overly sensitive(?) recently. An adamant "yes", was her only answer. And then she stomped off to bed. Perhaps, Lester thought now as he wiped the barrel of his 9mm glock off, stomp was a fair word. Her considerable size made a light foot fall nearly impossible. And the old floorboards of their whatkindof house squeaked underneath her arduous weight, a veritable(?) sonar tracking Maribels trek up the stairs and into the bedroom. And that was that. He'd returned his attention to the mind numbing cop show. Soon his face began to numb, and he slowly faded back into television oblivion.
That had been two or three weeks ago. As he sat now, staring at the wrong end of his gun, he thought he saw his reflection in the ebony abyss. She was cheating. He knew it. He bet somethingimportant on it. She'd been coming home later and later every night, more distant or less attentive, you pick, towards him. And happier somehow. There was a blush in her cheeks he hadn't seen in years. A lightness in her step. Don't get the wrong idea, of course Lester wanted Maribel to be happy. It's just that he hadn't seen her like that in so long, it unnerved him. And one night after staring at her refreshed and beautiful face, one glance in the window pane on the way upstairs was all it took to break the cracked pane of glass that was his ego (that his ego had become). He saw with a new sort of startling clarity his receeding or receeded hairline the dark and puffy bags under his eyes, the twenty pounds or so that bloated his features and turned his once structured into a soft and sagging bag/lump/pile of skin. So yes, he'd let himself go a little. But so had Maribel. She'd gained (more) the weight slowly but more progressively(?) He guessed he still saw her as the carefree flower child she was when they met. Long curly sunshine colored hair/sunset a strawberry blonde. A sweet drunken strawberry blonde. Tiny freckles on her porcelin, pale cheeks, tiny sun kissed lashes that sparkled like something. He felt something cold on his cheek, reached up to wipe it away and realized it was a tear. Lester pulled the brush(what) out of the barrel and swiped blindly towards the bottle of whiskey at his feet. It took a couple swipes(?) to affix his fingers around the neck of the bottle. But as soon as the liquid hit the back of his throat, his face instantly numbed up again and with a deep breath he felt alright again. Well, alright enough. Soon the pain would fade. Soon everything would. Maribel could have what she wanted without worrying about poor Lester. He knew exactly what it was too. Or rather who it was. He'd seen the portly young boy in the butcher staring at his Maribel on more than one occasion. The first time he'd actually been fairly non-chalant about it. He guessed he felt confident in their relationship. What a mistake that had been. That tubby prick had stolen his wifes affections and the worst part was that no one was going to do anything about it. Except Lester, who now felt a sharp pain in his jaw and opened and closed it several times. An exercise his sister-in-law had taught him when she'd caught him grinding his teeth. An affliction he'd had nearly all his life.
That had been two or three weeks ago. As he sat now, staring at the wrong end of his gun, he thought he saw his reflection in the ebony abyss. She was cheating. He knew it. He bet somethingimportant on it. She'd been coming home later and later every night, more distant or less attentive, you pick, towards him. And happier somehow. There was a blush in her cheeks he hadn't seen in years. A lightness in her step. Don't get the wrong idea, of course Lester wanted Maribel to be happy. It's just that he hadn't seen her like that in so long, it unnerved him. And one night after staring at her refreshed and beautiful face, one glance in the window pane on the way upstairs was all it took to break the cracked pane of glass that was his ego (that his ego had become). He saw with a new sort of startling clarity his receeding or receeded hairline the dark and puffy bags under his eyes, the twenty pounds or so that bloated his features and turned his once structured into a soft and sagging bag/lump/pile of skin. So yes, he'd let himself go a little. But so had Maribel. She'd gained (more) the weight slowly but more progressively(?) He guessed he still saw her as the carefree flower child she was when they met. Long curly sunshine colored hair/sunset a strawberry blonde. A sweet drunken strawberry blonde. Tiny freckles on her porcelin, pale cheeks, tiny sun kissed lashes that sparkled like something. He felt something cold on his cheek, reached up to wipe it away and realized it was a tear. Lester pulled the brush(what) out of the barrel and swiped blindly towards the bottle of whiskey at his feet. It took a couple swipes(?) to affix his fingers around the neck of the bottle. But as soon as the liquid hit the back of his throat, his face instantly numbed up again and with a deep breath he felt alright again. Well, alright enough. Soon the pain would fade. Soon everything would. Maribel could have what she wanted without worrying about poor Lester. He knew exactly what it was too. Or rather who it was. He'd seen the portly young boy in the butcher staring at his Maribel on more than one occasion. The first time he'd actually been fairly non-chalant about it. He guessed he felt confident in their relationship. What a mistake that had been. That tubby prick had stolen his wifes affections and the worst part was that no one was going to do anything about it. Except Lester, who now felt a sharp pain in his jaw and opened and closed it several times. An exercise his sister-in-law had taught him when she'd caught him grinding his teeth. An affliction he'd had nearly all his life.
More, when we come back after the break.
