Freewrite #2

I left work sweaty and grimy, my shirt off before my ass hit the car seat. I lit up a cigarette and cranked the radio after the engine roared to life. I blew out the smoke and sighed, then drew hard and deep off the filter, filling my lungs. The next exhale filled the car, and I stepped on the break. I dropped it into reverse and plucked the cigarette from my lips, checked my blind spots, and zipped out of the parking spot. I hit drive and took off, slowing just in time to stop at the parking lot entrance. Both sides were clear for a ways, so I floored it and zoomed toward the bar.

I passed a gas station and the fleeting thought of pizza pecked at the edges of my mind, but the limits of my wallet squashed the probing idea. A few minutes later I parked in the gravel lot of the bar. I grabbed my keys, lighter and smokes and rose from the car, locked the doors and slammed the driver door. There was a fight in progress in the nearby grass, but I ignored it. I was here to drink.

And drink I did. I stepped into the loud, hazy room as the jukebox played "Bad Reputation" by Joan Jett. One of the subwoofers had blown, but the sound was still better than a car stereo could pull off, so I relished in it as I approached the bar. It was Tuesday, so the bar was not particularly full. I received my order, which was a shot of Captain Morgan and a pitcher of cheap beer, and went off to one of the corner booths to drink in relative peace.