chalice26's Diaryland Diary

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Someone's tragic wasted existence

There's a guy named Guy. He is forty-something and an alcoholic. He helps out at bars bussing tables and cleaning up for the occasional free drink. He has long dark hair and a longer dark beard. He also has crippled hands and one wooden leg. He wears old t-shirts and flannels, and reeks of b-o. He's always really sweet and giddy and has a laugh like a goofy cartoon character. One night when I was homeless he let me sleep on his couch.

There's a lady named Jane. She's forty-something and a touch-screen addict. She always has the number one spot in every game. She has a lot of teeth missing and really greasy, stringy hair. She wears old t-shirts and sweatshirts without a bra. One of her breasts is roundish, and the other hangs down. She really loves to dance. She likes to bake for people.

Last night I said to the bartender, "I'm going to go hang out with Guy for a minute." And when I got over to him, he said, "She's gone. She's the love of my life and she's gone. She died of cancer on Friday. I would give my right arm to take her place. She was the best thing that ever happened to me and she's gone." And he went over to the touch-screens and sat down.

After that, I really have to wonder why we even bother.

12:28 a.m. - 2002-11-03
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