little bit like George Clooney.
Not even George Clooney when he was on Facts Of Life.
Or in Return Of The Killer Tomatoes!
Since The Black Friar had found himself in America, waiting for an over and over again delayed flight to Scotland, he had gone from an individual who almost always was in a bad mood to one step further into an enormous glum.
Like someone from Texas.
Glum bunch Texans.
The Friar was getting really settled into a very bad frame of mind, though that didn’t separate him that far from most of the other people in the airport when a woman walked by him screaming at her children about how stupid they were and how they took after their father.
Even with the fact that he could see a Silent Death Parasite hanging off one of the woman’s ears he just could not get out of his bad mood.
He was also growing tired of the headaches he always got when in these lands and airports are a piss pot places for spending any sort of time as we have already discussed, especially when you have a from Hell itself headache.
The only thing that held back his headaches when visiting America were cigars he got from a bastard in Miami who thought of himself as some sort of modern mystic business man.
The tobacco in the cigars was older than North America and he had to trade a coffee bean for them.
A bean grown in the Elysian Fields so it was a high cost to pay.
But all that did him a lick of spit good for anything because you can’t smoke in American airports. Carry guns in churches, schools, and bars- yes, in a lot of states. Try to bring back Jim Crowe Laws and apply them to the LGBT community, a number of states have you covered there.
But smoking in airports is just wrong.
Wrong.
‘Fucking Americans.’
The Friar was slouched down in his seat with his hood over his head sulking when everyone in the airport disappeared and the scene was repainted an off pink color like a badly created special effect from a late 80’s TV show.
That wasn’t so special.
He answered the change of his surroundings with, ‘Go away who…’
A force grabbed the Friar out of his seat and slammed him back down face first into the airport floor. That may have broken his neck a little. Something he would have to have someone check on later when he got a chance.
‘The potentials are not part of your walk,’ spoke a voice that made the Friar’s ears hurt.
‘So says the mysterious force with its knee in my back.’
‘Don’t interfere in this course of history,’ sounded out the voice.
‘I saved her. Where were you Holy Ghost?’
‘If she dies she isn’t the one. To interfere would change the layers of who she could be. Who The Triumvirate could be.’
‘Heaven, Hell, all these factions trying to get their hands on and control a group of young people hoping one will be The One. I’m a bastard but I don’t play with kids. Well, at least not anymore.’
All the people reappeared back into the airport as if they had never disappeared and the Friar raised himself up to his knees. He was about to smile an insane smile when he checked out the flight update board and saw he had missed his flight.
‘Holy Cunt is more like it.’
BREAKING NEWS: Recent polls show Pulpy is more unpopular than the president for the first time since coming into the public eye…
It might be hard to believe but things in life don’t flow like a well-crafted story. More like a slapdash novelist having amusing delusions and just free flowing the life of a tale of sensual nonsense.
Life is a rapper on too much coffee.
And God is a writer who has problems with plot structure.
And Grammar.
And Spelling.
And Story flow.
And Character creation.
And Dialogue.
God’s a shit writer.
That must be why he hired ghost writers for the Bible?
I have a theory that he’s also a hipster because look at Penguins.
Hipsters, worse than a hard snot.
Life goes in one direction and then another. It skips potholes and that’s one of the many ways life is an asshole. It keeps most people in an uncomfortable state and before you can notice you are at the point, the real point of all the other seemingly unrelated events it pisses on you.
Speaking of unrelated, that paragraph was unrelated to any sort of possible understanding.
Even when Joanna Osip is being random, taking herself away from her norm it’s all planned. The saying, “Did it without thinking” in no way applies to her.
She wanted to go somewhere to think about what her next move would be. Spend some time in a place away from her life circles.
The place she chose for a think is a new Orlando appetizer and cocktail bar called The Rakath Card.
Gotta love some of these hipster bullshit names for modern businesses.
The Rakath Card is located mid-way down a business street with mainly rundown buildings. Matter of fact the only business that was open on the street was The Rakath Card. Choosing to locate their bar on this street was on purpose to grab a bit of snob irony.
Again, hipsters, worse than ring worm.
Joanna handed the bouncer the $100 dollar cover and showed her ID so he could see she was the type of customer the owners of the club desired.
The inside of the bar was one large room of blue wall paint, red chairs, green tables, busy waitresses, young basketball players up from Miami, and more than one meth dealer.
And fucking hipsters.
Worse than scaps.
The meth because you know meth is the trendy drug to mention in your stories these days.
Though the club employed two bouncers who made sure no dealings of any kind were taking place to keep the atmosphere of the club as a bubble from the outside world you could still get whatever you wanted drugs or otherwise inside.
As long as it was trendy.
I’m leaving this whole end part as is as an example of the total madness that comes out of my brain sometimes.
Will someone please help me find the answer to what I was trying to say there?
The bill of sale on my brain is no refund, no cash back, no repairs.
The Rakath Card was sold to its customers as a quick getaway for those people who wanted to get away from things, had the cash to do so whenever they wished, and could add something to the mystique of the bars rep.
Joanna found a green table and ordered a couple things she had never consumed before- a white Russian and a plate of fried green beans.
White Russians.
Thanks Pam.
Thanks hipsters.
Worse than zombies.
The bar didn’t sale itself as a social club. People didn’t come to a place like The Rakath Card to meet up or hook up but to turn off. That’s why the lighting is dark, the music is very loud, and the tables are set up for one person to sit alone.
Joanna was well into her away from normal choices of drink and food when a red chair was placed across from her at her table. Her first reaction was a blink of her eyes and within that blink was a thought to pull her taser from her jacket pocket and stick it to the neck of whoever this was.
Instead she watched as the man, who was in his mid-twenties, sat down in the chair he had brought over to her table.
Very rude.
The man pulled a folded up piece of paper out from his pocket. He looked around to make sure the bouncers couldn’t see and slid the paper over to the middle of the table.
She looked him over. She didn’t like the look of him but didn’t feel like talking to the police after making someone piss themselves so she took a sip from her glass and took the paper and read it to herself: YOU HAVE SOMETHING OF MINE.
Joanna smiled while she pulled a pen from her jacket. She turned over the paper and wrote her own note.
She finished her drink with one last big swallow and left leaving the not
e behind.
Alleyn Wayne took the note from the spot on the table and let its words sink in as he read it several times: THEN COME AND GET IT.
Joanna had no idea who this man was or what he could be after but she didn’t care either. If someone wants to come after her they will learn she is prepared.
Everyone has lessons to learn.
This also includes the man who parked his Fiat so close to her car she had to get in the driver’s side door.
Worse than swallowed sick these hipsters are.
BREAKING NEWS: During argument on the Senate floor Senator says we must consider the nuclear option in business affairs such as opening trade where some countries are closing dealings with the U.S. because of U.S. Beyond Human laws…
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Lesson learned while writing this: Things written the night before can sure give you a headache the night after.
And if you didn’t see it when I released it on Valentine’s Day here’s the V-Day alternate cover to Tin Universe Monthly #13
I’ll be doing alternate covers every month to be released on holiday or celebration days that I get ideas from to help promote that month Tin Universe Monthly.
Thanks for reading,
Brian C. Williams
[email protected] SITES YOU SHOULD VISIT:
UNDER THE TRAINING BOOK: https://underthetrainingbook.blogspot.com/
TIN UNIVERSE: https://tinuniverse.blogspot.com/
GOD MARK: https://thegodmark.blogspot.com/
WALLBOUND: https://wallbound.blogspot.com/
FACEBOOK https://www.facebook.com/people/Brian-Williams/100000358371201
TWITTER https://twitter.com/hangofwednesday
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