Waiting for Joe

I wonder, staring into an empty glass, how many pints, how many hours have passed. Perhaps just one more.

The bartender has long since gotten used to my coming in. Gone are the days of his friendly greetings, his idle chit chat. He knows I'm not here for him. Not even here for his drinks. He knows I'm here to wait. To wait, again, for Joe.

Joe said she would meet me at this bar Thursday night at 10 pm. Thursday night. I'm sure that is what she said. That was, what, six months ago. Why I return here week after week I cannot say. You would have to know Joe.

Men will go to the ends of the earth, to the edge of sanity for the right woman. I would do it all, and more, for Joe. So I wait. Wait, staring into this empty pint glass which has become my world. Wait... at least on Thurday nights. Pray you never cross my path on another day.

Ask Joe

It's funny, the things that go through your mind when you are about to die...

I was heading down 4th Street, down that steep hill doing about 35. 35 clicks, with nothing between me and the asphalt except my boots. I had just been thrown from my motorcycle. Some chick was too busy yapping on her cell to notice me. She took out my bike. I managed to stay upright. Something about the downhill slope and my direction of travel, I just started to slide on the slick surface. I'm like one of those barefoot water skiers. Except I'm not on water, and I'm not barefoot. Not yet.

The smoke started almost instantly, followed soon by the intense heat. And the sound. Lord! It was like the most horrible "nails on chalkboard" screaching you've ever heard. Why I haven't slammed face first onto the asphalt by now is a mystery to me, but I figure, what the hell. I'm still alive, might as well go with it.

My shoes are on fire now. The nerve endings in my feet must have been seared, because I could feel no pain. Just an increase in vibration and slickness that told me my soles had worn through.

The traffic light in the intersection ahead of me is red, naturally. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a citation wielding dickless Tracy watch me pass. Ah fuck! Now I'm going to get busted for running a red light. I'll have to ask Joe to help me out with this one, if I live to tell him about it...

Where did you go, Joe?

I had a friend named Joe. He hated doors.
He hated anything that could contain him.
Doors, cars, women...
Anytime he felt the walls or the claws he was gone
His favorite place was "out'ta here", out on the road
out there...
somewhere.

What ever happened to my friend Joe?

I remember the last time I saw Joe...

It was back in '02. Back in the "naught-ies". We had just finished that thing with the guy at the place. I still can't get over how that one turned out. Some people are just insane. Who would have thought that crazy son'bitch would show up with an elephant. That threw us all for a loop. All but Joe. No, Joe just walked right in there and that was that. You see, where Joe is concerned, it doesn't matter if you're talking about an elephant or a mouse. You're going down.

Anyway, after that, we collected our gear, did the usual to cover our tracks, and split up. As we left I turned to tell Joe something. "Hey Joe...", I said, but he was gone. That's the last any of us heard from Joe. It's too bad. I've got another thing coming up. I hear this guy has a thing about orangutan. Man, I hate orangutan! Joe, where the hell are you when I need you?!