Reality Wave - Distorted Funhouse - Chapter 5

in #writing6 years ago (edited)

reality_wave_4__cover copy.jpg

Cigarette smoke rolls out of the entrance swallowing me up like a thick fog. I wade through it until it thins out, but what I find is a dingy dark bar that almost resembles the inside of a barn. The wood looked weathered and splintered. It even smelled like the barn animals were still in it. The backwoods Hillbilly music blares from a vintage jukebox as a hardened crowd wonders about like a herd of wild animals.

The dense cigarette smoke hazes out the neon beer & liquor signs. Shot glasses slam on a thick old wooden bar marked by knife blade carvings of dirty words, initials, colorful nicknames, and of course drawings of over exaggerated sex organs. Pool balls clack together at nearby pool tables as raunchy cuss words echo out.

As I enter the main bar area everyone abruptly turns around, they all seem to know I’m new meat here. I’m surprised the music didn’t stop playing too. This is extremely uncomfortable. Everyone looks really weird like they belong in one of those distorted funhouse mirrors. Gee, I’ve never seen so many blood shot eyes in one place – well a couple of them have a missing eye, but that’s to be expected in a roughneck joint like this. I pan across an assortment of eerie faces, young babyish faces to old leathery prairie beaten mugs, all of them just blatantly gawking at me like a roll of bad Halloween mask. And they don’t even bother to hide it, complete disrespect in my book.

To top it off, this black leather outfit doesn't project the image of Dorothy skipping down the yellow brick road at the moment, but this ain’t exactly Munchkin land either – wait, I’ll take that back – some little short bastard with a fat ass just wondered by staring at me. More than likely thinking like the rest of these assholes that I’m here to pick up my next john.
One of my heels gets caught on some beer bottle caps that litter the floor, causing me to slightly stumble near a pool of drool dripping to the floor. It seems to be oozing from cartoon-like cowboy-hatted figures of various sizes and odd body shapes lined up against the bar watching my every move. Like ravenous vultures waiting to pounce and pick the last bit of meat off me.

Okay Ava, if you don’t want to become a feast – stay upright and stay calm, continue moving forward. As I continue into this wax museum of ghastly freaks, I notice how they’re all oddly highlighted in this smoke-filled atmosphere giving them a more creepy–crawly feel. I can’t get over this strange unreal feeling that has a taken hold of me. Everyone here seems like just a caricature of a human being somehow.

Searching through this sea of jerk offs for Phillips I come across a hooker wearing the same exact outfit as mine – oh my God, I think my skirt is actually shorter than hers. If I would’ve known this place was called “Shit Kicker Saloon,” I might have worn my cowboy boots and hat, yahoo! Yeah right, who am I kidding, this sewage hole is jam packed with every degenerate sex offender and two bit drug trafficker playing cowboy. I’m sure they much rather have me dance across the bar top in ass less chaps shoving hard to find dollar bills in my ass crack.

I pass some big time gamblers types sitting at card tables covered with poker cards and money. This one gambler I find particularly disgusting is a big lard bucket inbred with a half naked girl on his lap, gee I just want to puke. As I continue to make my way through a more jam-packed part of the saloon, rough sand paper like hands are touching and grouping me from every which way. I would be snapping a few fingers back if this joint wasn’t packed like sardines. I’m roughly pushed up against every sweaty and smelly body along the way, hot foul alcohol breath blows on my hair around my neck making my skin crawl. Obscene suggestions are yelled into my ear along with a spray of spit.

I need to find this guy Phillips as quick as possible and get the Hell out of here! Wait – there’s a guy at the first pool table wearing a black cowboy hat with a gold band. This might be Phillips - well I really hope it’s him, thick wavy dark collar length hair, very ruggedly handsome, like a Hugh Jackman in his prime, and that two day old beard growth looked rather appealing on him too.

He's wearing a beautiful brilliant blue silky western shirt, black vest and denim jeans. He sure looks muscular and lean under those clothes, he must have a body like a Roman gladiator. I could just imagine him in a loincloth and sword. Is that my heart racing?
Oh my, he just bent over and made that bank shot – very nice view by the way. Wow, he’s really has my hormones on high alert. I begin to wonder why is this man is looking so titillating to me?

Is it because I’m just sex starved? Or is it his bad boy persona he exudes? I mean look at the way he guzzled that last half of his beer. I’ve never seen anyone guzzle beer and look so hot doing it. He’s so different then the men I’ve dated in the past? He moves like a panther around that pool table and he seems to really be in command as he makes fancy bank shots, one after another. The poor schmuck he just beat is now having to pay up. Phillips carefully counts the money and shoves it into his front pocket of his shirt. Is he a pool hustler?

Coin Marketplace

STEEM 0.28
TRX 0.11
JST 0.031
BTC 69054.54
ETH 3793.22
USDT 1.00
SBD 3.70