I did some writing yesterday and today; here is some of it:

What was she talking on about? Oh, her kid. He should try to pay attention, but it was loud in the bar and he kept staring at her mouth to try to gauge what she was saying, which just distracted him.
She had a great mouth. Her lips were full and lush, and she bit them when she was thinking, which was starting to drive him crazy. He liked women who bit, too.

“Where in Europe is she going?” He took a sip of his drink. The bartender had given him a healthy pour, he’d better watch himself if he was going to be good for anything later on tonight.

He sure as hell hoped there’d be something later on tonight, he didn’t want to waste his time if he wasn’t going to get laid.

He coulda done that with Katharine. What made him think she was a good idea? Her ass was flat, and she had the worst taste in music. Fucking Ben Harper, wimpy hippie crap.

“All over,” she said, her hands spread in a broad gesture. “She’s not sure, she speaks a little bit of Spanish, so she was going to go to Spain for sure, and then she might just wander.”

“It sounds fun. The closest I’ve come to Spain is ‘Spanish Bombs.’”

“London Calling is the best record The Clash ever did.” She said that without a bit of hesitation, not like when she was quizzing him about why he was talking to her. Interesting.

“No way,” he said, putting his drink down. “Give ‘Em Enough Rope.” He grinned when her eyes widened in shock.’

“Are you kidding me? Sure, it’s a great record, but it’s nothing compared London Calling. Hello, ‘Guns of Brixton?’ ‘Lost In The Supermarket?’ Train In Vain?’” The last title was said in an outraged shriek that made him laugh.

“Okay, fair enough. I might give you that. So—what do you say, The Jam or the The Clash?”

She snorted. “The Jam, of course.”

“Okay, first test passed.” He thought for a minute. “Your first show?”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you really want me to admit it? That’d just show how old I am.”

“Try me.”

“Okay. When I was 16, I snuck into Echo and the Bunnymen’s first American show.”

“Good taste back then.” I bet she’ll taste good now, too, he thought.

“So what about you? What was your first show?” She raised her glass to her mouth and waited for his answer, as though challenging him. Nobody challenged him. Especially about music. He liked it. Sort of.

“Uh—”

“Lemme guess. Pearl Jam?”

“Worse.”

“Oh, geez.” Her voice rose higher. “Red Hot Chili Peppers?”

“Go lower.”

Her eyes got even wider. “Worse than the Red Hot Chili Peppers? Good thing you already bought me a drink.” She took a sip, and set the glass down.

“Smash Mouth.”

She blinked, then flung her head back and laughed. “I’m amazed you’d admit that.”

He shrugged, although he wished he felt as nonchalant inside. “Why not? I was—let’s see, I must have been about 16 too. My older brother was going, and said there’d be some girls there.”

“Did you meet any?”

He glanced at her. “No, actually. The opening band was one of those screechy art-rock bands, they were a noisier wanna be Talking Heads, and I was hooked. I went backstage and met them.”

“How was that?” She planted her chin on her hands. “Was it all you’d hoped for?”

“Sort of.” He narrowed his eyes, remembering. “The lead singer was totally fucked up, he was so drunk he could barely stand, but the other band members, especially the guitarist, was really nice. Especially to a kid. They could’ve been all kinds of snotty.”

“Although they were opening for Smash Mouth . . .” she let her voice trail off.

“Yeah. There was that.” That night was the first time he’d felt like maybe there would be more to his life than being the not-as-good younger brother of a high school football hero. Finally he knew more than Patrick. Patrick, who’d blown out his knee his senior year and was living in Braintree in Massachusetts. Selling fucking cars. With a wife he hated, and two kids he adored.

That’s enough of reminiscing, Liam, he reminded himself. He wouldn’t allow himself to reveal too much to her—to any woman. Not to mention any man.

Liking being a loner didn’t mean he had to like being alone, at least for certain activities.

He let his eyes drift over her while she took a sip from her scotch and soda.

This entry was posted on Friday, February 12th, 2010 at 6:38 pm and is filed under DYWMB?. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.