THE ANTIBODY
“Shit on a shingle with blueberry pancakes.”
The waitress took a moment to process that Jimmy was giving his order, not a command.
“Anything to drink with that?”
“COFFEE. Black.” Jimmy’s voice cracked. Spend a few nights drinking whiskey- muscatel mixers and yours will too.
“Comin’ right up Sugar.” she said, flashing that I’m-only-being-polite-so-you’ll-leave-a-bigger-tip smile as she walked away.
Jimmy’s tip for her? Shakin’ that ass a little less; a man could only hold himself back for so long. And having such thoughts, Jimmy reconciled, was natural. Sex and love were two separate entities; and though his love, Lenore, was gone, his insatiable thirst for sex was not.
Lenore knew that. Shit. Any broad with half a brain knew that.
The diner which he currently sat in was one of those long, narrow silver structures, similar to the turds his childhood dog, Captain Handsome, made after eating a bag of tinsel. Its windows, wide rectangular glass panes, lacked blinds and so the sun glared in, reflecting off everything from the adjacent walls to the Formica table before him. Jimmy didn’t know the name of the place but that mattered little; it was a seat yourself affair which he used to full advantage.
Having nothing but the wall behind him gave Jimmy a complete view of everyone in the establishment. It also made him feel cornered like a small animal, a feeling he very much enjoyed. A feeling like that made all the difference between cold-cocking a guy and breaking a barstool over his head.
It made Jimmy’s nethers tingle.
He watched the waitress return with his order; the chipped beef, the blueberry pancakes, the coffee. She set both dishes in front of him, winked and went on to her other tables.
“Mmmph” Jimmy grunted.
Perhaps for dessert he’d have some sexy pie.
Licking his lips, Jimmy doused the beef tips with salt and shifted the pancakes so they were directly across from him.
“Eat up, Babe” he said to no one, lifting the mug.
A spitball lodged itself dead center in Jimmy’s pupil. His good eye saw the perpetrator, smiling, a straw dangling from his lips. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a look of malice only Jimmy could spot. The child, no older than six, ducked back behind the booth almost as quickly as he’d appeared.
Jimmy thought about diseases and Jimmy thought about death. He thought about those whose loved ones fell victim to things like Cancer or AIDS, and how they could do nothing except internalize the anger; how there was nothing for them to rail against. You couldn’t put Cancer in a sleeper hold; AIDS couldn’t be thrown off a cliff. All you could do is grit your teeth, lower your head and continue on.
But it was different for Jimmy, the disease which claimed his Lenore was not only visible to the naked eye, it was a tangible, rabid, mass run rampant through society. Worse, it was protected under the guise of innocence, vulnerability, and irresponsibility for its lethal actions.
It was enough to make Jimmy want to line up every man, woman, child in the world and fist-fight them one by one; knock ‘em back like so many shots.
All of a sudden Jimmy wasn’t so fucking hungry.
He swept his plate to the side, heard it clang against the salt and pepper shakers, the aluminum napkin holder.
It was coming. And Jimmy, very briefly, tried to hold it at bay. He looked at the Daily Specials Menu taped to the wall: Swedish Meatballs, Fish Fry, Chicken Parmigiana, etc. He noted that DEATH was not listed but, looking upon his hands, that he had all was needed to whip some up real quick.
The stars aligned and Jimmy overheard the child’s dipshit father say something about going to the bathroom, being back real quick, and to sit tight. He watched the man get up, leave, and disappear before making his move. Then it was all business for Jimmy.
He picked the child up by his hair, then transferred his hold so his grip was on the back of the child’s shirt, carrying him like a duffel bag. Arms and legs sprawling, the child made a noise Jimmy’d heard many times before, though normally it was from horror movies and involved vampires and sunlight. Avoiding eye contact with the other patrons as they passed, Jimmy pushed through the glass doors and made his way outside.
Jimmy saw something there which gave him great delight; an ice cream truck. When the two were about five feet from it, Jimmy again shifted his grip on the child. This time, however, he leaned back, and heaved the child against the back of the truck. Startled by the sound, the ice cream man poked his head out his little window, giving Jimmy’s hands something new to grab.
The ice cream man wasn’t very happy about being yanked out of his truck, but then again he wasn’t conscious long enough to do much about it. Jimmy’s heel smashed itself against the man’s temple.
Jimmy walked around to the driver’s side, got in, fumbled with the keys and started her up. It took a moment or two, but he found the switch that played the Mr. Sprinkles Ice Cream Jingle. Then he backed up, felt a thud and, satisfied, put her in first. The wheels screeched on the pavement, another thud came and Jimmy was off. Realizing how great his fortune was securing this ride, Jimmy thought about its contents. A quick stop at a lawn and garden store, a few bags of pesticide and he could get a lot of work done in this thing.
He bobbed his head to the music and, though he wasn’t aware of it, smiled.
See? It wasn’t all revenge and misery for Jimmy.
Sometimes there was circus music.
“Shit on a shingle with blueberry pancakes.”
The waitress took a moment to process that Jimmy was giving his order, not a command.
“Anything to drink with that?”
“COFFEE. Black.” Jimmy’s voice cracked. Spend a few nights drinking whiskey- muscatel mixers and yours will too.
“Comin’ right up Sugar.” she said, flashing that I’m-only-being-polite-so-you’ll-leave-a-bigger-tip smile as she walked away.
Jimmy’s tip for her? Shakin’ that ass a little less; a man could only hold himself back for so long. And having such thoughts, Jimmy reconciled, was natural. Sex and love were two separate entities; and though his love, Lenore, was gone, his insatiable thirst for sex was not.
Lenore knew that. Shit. Any broad with half a brain knew that.
The diner which he currently sat in was one of those long, narrow silver structures, similar to the turds his childhood dog, Captain Handsome, made after eating a bag of tinsel. Its windows, wide rectangular glass panes, lacked blinds and so the sun glared in, reflecting off everything from the adjacent walls to the Formica table before him. Jimmy didn’t know the name of the place but that mattered little; it was a seat yourself affair which he used to full advantage.
Having nothing but the wall behind him gave Jimmy a complete view of everyone in the establishment. It also made him feel cornered like a small animal, a feeling he very much enjoyed. A feeling like that made all the difference between cold-cocking a guy and breaking a barstool over his head.
It made Jimmy’s nethers tingle.
He watched the waitress return with his order; the chipped beef, the blueberry pancakes, the coffee. She set both dishes in front of him, winked and went on to her other tables.
“Mmmph” Jimmy grunted.
Perhaps for dessert he’d have some sexy pie.
Licking his lips, Jimmy doused the beef tips with salt and shifted the pancakes so they were directly across from him.
“Eat up, Babe” he said to no one, lifting the mug.
A spitball lodged itself dead center in Jimmy’s pupil. His good eye saw the perpetrator, smiling, a straw dangling from his lips. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a look of malice only Jimmy could spot. The child, no older than six, ducked back behind the booth almost as quickly as he’d appeared.
Jimmy thought about diseases and Jimmy thought about death. He thought about those whose loved ones fell victim to things like Cancer or AIDS, and how they could do nothing except internalize the anger; how there was nothing for them to rail against. You couldn’t put Cancer in a sleeper hold; AIDS couldn’t be thrown off a cliff. All you could do is grit your teeth, lower your head and continue on.
But it was different for Jimmy, the disease which claimed his Lenore was not only visible to the naked eye, it was a tangible, rabid, mass run rampant through society. Worse, it was protected under the guise of innocence, vulnerability, and irresponsibility for its lethal actions.
It was enough to make Jimmy want to line up every man, woman, child in the world and fist-fight them one by one; knock ‘em back like so many shots.
All of a sudden Jimmy wasn’t so fucking hungry.
He swept his plate to the side, heard it clang against the salt and pepper shakers, the aluminum napkin holder.
It was coming. And Jimmy, very briefly, tried to hold it at bay. He looked at the Daily Specials Menu taped to the wall: Swedish Meatballs, Fish Fry, Chicken Parmigiana, etc. He noted that DEATH was not listed but, looking upon his hands, that he had all was needed to whip some up real quick.
The stars aligned and Jimmy overheard the child’s dipshit father say something about going to the bathroom, being back real quick, and to sit tight. He watched the man get up, leave, and disappear before making his move. Then it was all business for Jimmy.
He picked the child up by his hair, then transferred his hold so his grip was on the back of the child’s shirt, carrying him like a duffel bag. Arms and legs sprawling, the child made a noise Jimmy’d heard many times before, though normally it was from horror movies and involved vampires and sunlight. Avoiding eye contact with the other patrons as they passed, Jimmy pushed through the glass doors and made his way outside.
Jimmy saw something there which gave him great delight; an ice cream truck. When the two were about five feet from it, Jimmy again shifted his grip on the child. This time, however, he leaned back, and heaved the child against the back of the truck. Startled by the sound, the ice cream man poked his head out his little window, giving Jimmy’s hands something new to grab.
The ice cream man wasn’t very happy about being yanked out of his truck, but then again he wasn’t conscious long enough to do much about it. Jimmy’s heel smashed itself against the man’s temple.
Jimmy walked around to the driver’s side, got in, fumbled with the keys and started her up. It took a moment or two, but he found the switch that played the Mr. Sprinkles Ice Cream Jingle. Then he backed up, felt a thud and, satisfied, put her in first. The wheels screeched on the pavement, another thud came and Jimmy was off. Realizing how great his fortune was securing this ride, Jimmy thought about its contents. A quick stop at a lawn and garden store, a few bags of pesticide and he could get a lot of work done in this thing.
He bobbed his head to the music and, though he wasn’t aware of it, smiled.
See? It wasn’t all revenge and misery for Jimmy.
Sometimes there was circus music.
posted by Pretty Awesome @ 3:04 PM
0 comments
