Post by joeycrash on Feb 7, 2022 17:30:48 GMT -5
Joey’s right hand remained clenched around the handle of his beer mug, laced with the evidence of previous pints. With just a finger, he motioned for another drink and necked the remains of his pint. He checked his phone, Sophie was running late. Crash pondered for a moment that she was lost. The bar was very out of the way, down a few alleyways and crammed in among other small houses and apartments. Unless you knew what you were looking for, you just might miss it. The interior was a classic dive bar. The dark green paint and wood panelling sucked all the light from the room, save for some choice neon signs dotted around. The seating in front of the bar was packed with regulars, each leaving a seat gap in between, drinking in complete silence or vaguely talking to themselves.
Crash shifted in his booth, one of only two small booths in the place. The leather was crackly and had chunks missing, exposing the foam filling inside. Above the seats were branded glass panes for Old Milwaukee Beer. Someone had scratched off the second half of their old tagline so it just read, “It doesn’t get any better.” The barmaid arrived at that moment with a new pint, plus a full pitcher and an empty glass. The way in which she practically dropped them on the table without spilling a drop at such speed told Crash everything he needed to know about the level of service and how long she’d probably been serving drinks. Just as he was about to start his next beer, Sophie entered the bar.
“Soph! Get over here.” Crash handed the barmaid a $50 and motioned for her to shoo. Sophie surveyed her surroundings before throwing her bag into the booth and taking the seat across from him. As she sat down, the chair hissed as it deflated and adjusted to it’s new occupant.
“You never asked me if I drank beer,” she jeered. Pouring herself a beer immediately.
“Did I need to?” Crash held out his arms in a coy manner and sparked up a menthol cigarette. Sophie had her first swig and half way through, abruptly stopped and put the drink down.
“Shit-- I’m sorry. Are we toasting to anything?”
“... To your dad. To Mick.” Crash raised his mug in the air as Sophie was struck by the gesture. She felt a rush of kindness that she’d never seen from him before.
“To Dad!” With a smile she raised her chalice and they clinked in the air.
They spent hours in that booth, breathing life into old tales the other had never heard. The glasses emptied, refilled and emptied again as they poured their hearts out and fully let their guards down around each other for the first time since they met. Crash clung onto this feeling of being whole and wanting to stay in the moment, never let another thought into his mind. He checked the old clock on the wall to assess how long they’d been bothering everyone. Looking around again the bar was a lot busier than it was when Sophie first came in. He wondered when they all arrived and how much had actually happened around him. The drawl had sunk in for both of them, senses delayed and speech impaired. At that moment, the barmaid arrived with two shots of whiskey.
“Urgh, whiskey? I’m going to be hungover tomorrow.”
“Whiskey before beer, never fear!” Joey proclaimed, slamming his shot glass down triumphantly.
“Wait, did you have whiskey before the beer as well?”
“Wait... What did I say?” They cracked into laughter as Crash realized his mistake, cheersing as they revelled in the absurdity of it all and necking their shots. Crash puckered his mouth and squinted as he gulped but Sophie looked like she just bit into a lemon. The laughter continued as she struggled to get back to a straight face. Then, time stood still.
Mick was standing in the middle of the bar with a whiskey in hand, raising his glass to Joey. It’s like he was moving in slow motion, recognizing and saying hello to old friends that weren’t there. Sharing jokes and laughing with invisible friends. He eventually turned back to Joey and started speaking though his voice was too muffled and echoey to make out what he was trying to say.
“Sophie... What was the funeral like?” The laughter in the booth faded very quickly and she took a moment to adjust to the new tone of conversation. She looked down at the table and ran her hand through her hair, breathing a deep sigh.
“It was... Weird. It was sad-- I was sad. But like, you can only be so sad for someone that you didn’t really know, you know? There was a bunch of people there that I’d only ever seen in old magazines, or on the internet. Turns out, Mick was a pretty popular dude! I just wish I knew him better. And look, I’m sorry that I didn’t invite you, it was just—”
“Couldn’t what?”
“I couldn’t... Fucking tell him that Mick was dead.” Crash motioned for two more shots and turned away from Sophie. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes harshly with his thumb and forefingers, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his jacket.
“Joey... God, now I feel really bad. I shouldn’t have been so selfish to not invite you.”
“I mean, I could have shown up. I knew it was in Plymouth. I knew the date, the time, everything. I had your blue book. You left it at the bar that time you stormed off.” Sophie fell into a concerted silence as she processed what Crash had just said. The shots arrived and Crash left a $20 on the table which was quickly snapped away.
“I thought I lost it. I could have sworn that... You’ve had it all this time? And you never told me or tried to give it back? I thought I lost that book forever! I wrote in it all the time, like a diary! And you never told me?”
“Look, don’t make this about you—” Sophie lurched forward and slid the empty glasses aside.
“It’s never about me! Jesus Christ, do you listen to yourself?! It’s always about you, you, you! Every time I think we’ve turned a corner you come up with another reason for me to hate you all over again. You think you’re a saint, don’t you?”
“I know what I am! And you’re fucking drunk. I thought we were really starting to become friends but in true Smyth fashion you had to ruin a good thing just before it could become great.” Crash grabbed his shot and necked it, standing up. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?”
“You know what? FUCK YOU!” Sophie dashed the shot glass at Crash, it bounced off the bridge of his nose and the alcohol stung his eyes. He collapsed on the floor in pain as Sophie continued to slap him while he was down. The bar staff and other regulars ran over for the commotion and ordered them both out, with Sophie needing to be dragged off of Joey. As Crash got back into his seat, he wiped the blood and whiskey out of his sight. He caught a glimpse of Sophie leaving the bar and could have sworn that Mick was right behind her.
The camera opens up to an assault of bright lights and old machines, duelling against each other to be the loudest in the room. The carpet was deep pile and crusted with the decades old drink spills, stains and discarded chewing gum. Kids ran across the camera from every angle with trails of tickets streaming behind them as we lurch further into the abyss of childish delights. At the back we can see someone clearly much taller and older than the rest of the players and the camera moves towards them. He was wearing skinny black jeans and a purple Level Up branded counterfeit shirt that he’d stolen out the back of a merchandise van at the previous show. Crash’s head was bowed towards the machine controls.
As the camera finally arrives at Crash’s left side, we can see he’s at a claw machine, filled with prizes locked in plastic balls. The claw lifts dramatically, swinging with the abrupt stop and start mechanics.
“This game isn’t much fun. I could have been playing Ridge Racer... House of the Living Dead... Time Crisis. Fuck, even Flappy Bird is more fun than this.” The claw dives into the pool of prizes and latches onto a plastic shell. After another second, it drives its way back up with the prize in hand only to lifelessly drop it back into the pit.
“Sheesh. This is no way to get ahead in life. But...” Crash stopped for a moment, mesmerized by the claw as it jerked back to life for another round, “... I suppose it’s not completely without it’s merits.” The claw dropped a ball into the prize area.
“This, Amber... Is you. You are this claw machine. Entertaining... for a while. There’s an attraction like you in every promotion. Hell, what sort of promotion wouldn’t have a feature like you?” Crash gestures grandly in the glow of the machine. “That’d be crazy. But you don’t have the it-factor of the other more exciting games that have appeared since your heyday. You’re old news. In the background. And not getting any better.”
Crash leans down to pick up the winning ball from the prize and holds it up in front of the camera with a smile. “Sure, you can get something every once in a while... And there’s something charming about how you operate. But you can’t always be sure just what you’re gonna get.” He twists open the lock with a crack and pulls out a worn and folded photo of himself, from when he first joined Level Up.
Crash turns his back to the camera and start marching out of the arcade. He turns back occasionally to continue his monologue. A kid walking across his path with his face half painted lie Bert McAlroy gets unceremoniously shoved into another group of acne ridden teenagers, sending drink cans and candy wrappers flying everywhere. “Get out of here, idiot!” Crash finally stops at the entrance to the arcade and turns back to the camera.
“Look. You winning against me, isn’t going to happen. Accept it and move on. I could have cashed in my tickets for at least seven victories against you. You’re not on my level. You’ll need a lot more quarters and practice before you can get there. This prize is still out of reach!”
Crash shifted in his booth, one of only two small booths in the place. The leather was crackly and had chunks missing, exposing the foam filling inside. Above the seats were branded glass panes for Old Milwaukee Beer. Someone had scratched off the second half of their old tagline so it just read, “It doesn’t get any better.” The barmaid arrived at that moment with a new pint, plus a full pitcher and an empty glass. The way in which she practically dropped them on the table without spilling a drop at such speed told Crash everything he needed to know about the level of service and how long she’d probably been serving drinks. Just as he was about to start his next beer, Sophie entered the bar.
“Soph! Get over here.” Crash handed the barmaid a $50 and motioned for her to shoo. Sophie surveyed her surroundings before throwing her bag into the booth and taking the seat across from him. As she sat down, the chair hissed as it deflated and adjusted to it’s new occupant.
“You never asked me if I drank beer,” she jeered. Pouring herself a beer immediately.
“Did I need to?” Crash held out his arms in a coy manner and sparked up a menthol cigarette. Sophie had her first swig and half way through, abruptly stopped and put the drink down.
“Shit-- I’m sorry. Are we toasting to anything?”
“... To your dad. To Mick.” Crash raised his mug in the air as Sophie was struck by the gesture. She felt a rush of kindness that she’d never seen from him before.
“To Dad!” With a smile she raised her chalice and they clinked in the air.
They spent hours in that booth, breathing life into old tales the other had never heard. The glasses emptied, refilled and emptied again as they poured their hearts out and fully let their guards down around each other for the first time since they met. Crash clung onto this feeling of being whole and wanting to stay in the moment, never let another thought into his mind. He checked the old clock on the wall to assess how long they’d been bothering everyone. Looking around again the bar was a lot busier than it was when Sophie first came in. He wondered when they all arrived and how much had actually happened around him. The drawl had sunk in for both of them, senses delayed and speech impaired. At that moment, the barmaid arrived with two shots of whiskey.
“Urgh, whiskey? I’m going to be hungover tomorrow.”
“Whiskey before beer, never fear!” Joey proclaimed, slamming his shot glass down triumphantly.
“Wait, did you have whiskey before the beer as well?”
“Wait... What did I say?” They cracked into laughter as Crash realized his mistake, cheersing as they revelled in the absurdity of it all and necking their shots. Crash puckered his mouth and squinted as he gulped but Sophie looked like she just bit into a lemon. The laughter continued as she struggled to get back to a straight face. Then, time stood still.
Mick was standing in the middle of the bar with a whiskey in hand, raising his glass to Joey. It’s like he was moving in slow motion, recognizing and saying hello to old friends that weren’t there. Sharing jokes and laughing with invisible friends. He eventually turned back to Joey and started speaking though his voice was too muffled and echoey to make out what he was trying to say.
“Sophie... What was the funeral like?” The laughter in the booth faded very quickly and she took a moment to adjust to the new tone of conversation. She looked down at the table and ran her hand through her hair, breathing a deep sigh.
“It was... Weird. It was sad-- I was sad. But like, you can only be so sad for someone that you didn’t really know, you know? There was a bunch of people there that I’d only ever seen in old magazines, or on the internet. Turns out, Mick was a pretty popular dude! I just wish I knew him better. And look, I’m sorry that I didn’t invite you, it was just—”
“It’s okay Soph,” he interrupted with a slur. “I was a royal shit that day. All banged up and still trying to figure everything out. Fuck, I’m always trying to figure it out. But I’m not sure I’ve figured out this grief thing.” Sophie nodded intently.
“I was in London a couple weeks ago and I saw a mate of mine, Jimmy. And I... I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t what?”
“I couldn’t... Fucking tell him that Mick was dead.” Crash motioned for two more shots and turned away from Sophie. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes harshly with his thumb and forefingers, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his jacket.
“Joey... God, now I feel really bad. I shouldn’t have been so selfish to not invite you.”
“I mean, I could have shown up. I knew it was in Plymouth. I knew the date, the time, everything. I had your blue book. You left it at the bar that time you stormed off.” Sophie fell into a concerted silence as she processed what Crash had just said. The shots arrived and Crash left a $20 on the table which was quickly snapped away.
“I thought I lost it. I could have sworn that... You’ve had it all this time? And you never told me or tried to give it back? I thought I lost that book forever! I wrote in it all the time, like a diary! And you never told me?”
“Look, don’t make this about you—” Sophie lurched forward and slid the empty glasses aside.
“It’s never about me! Jesus Christ, do you listen to yourself?! It’s always about you, you, you! Every time I think we’ve turned a corner you come up with another reason for me to hate you all over again. You think you’re a saint, don’t you?”
“I know what I am! And you’re fucking drunk. I thought we were really starting to become friends but in true Smyth fashion you had to ruin a good thing just before it could become great.” Crash grabbed his shot and necked it, standing up. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?”
“You know what? FUCK YOU!” Sophie dashed the shot glass at Crash, it bounced off the bridge of his nose and the alcohol stung his eyes. He collapsed on the floor in pain as Sophie continued to slap him while he was down. The bar staff and other regulars ran over for the commotion and ordered them both out, with Sophie needing to be dragged off of Joey. As Crash got back into his seat, he wiped the blood and whiskey out of his sight. He caught a glimpse of Sophie leaving the bar and could have sworn that Mick was right behind her.
[PROMO]
The camera opens up to an assault of bright lights and old machines, duelling against each other to be the loudest in the room. The carpet was deep pile and crusted with the decades old drink spills, stains and discarded chewing gum. Kids ran across the camera from every angle with trails of tickets streaming behind them as we lurch further into the abyss of childish delights. At the back we can see someone clearly much taller and older than the rest of the players and the camera moves towards them. He was wearing skinny black jeans and a purple Level Up branded counterfeit shirt that he’d stolen out the back of a merchandise van at the previous show. Crash’s head was bowed towards the machine controls.
As the camera finally arrives at Crash’s left side, we can see he’s at a claw machine, filled with prizes locked in plastic balls. The claw lifts dramatically, swinging with the abrupt stop and start mechanics.
“This game isn’t much fun. I could have been playing Ridge Racer... House of the Living Dead... Time Crisis. Fuck, even Flappy Bird is more fun than this.” The claw dives into the pool of prizes and latches onto a plastic shell. After another second, it drives its way back up with the prize in hand only to lifelessly drop it back into the pit.
“Sheesh. This is no way to get ahead in life. But...” Crash stopped for a moment, mesmerized by the claw as it jerked back to life for another round, “... I suppose it’s not completely without it’s merits.” The claw dropped a ball into the prize area.
“This, Amber... Is you. You are this claw machine. Entertaining... for a while. There’s an attraction like you in every promotion. Hell, what sort of promotion wouldn’t have a feature like you?” Crash gestures grandly in the glow of the machine. “That’d be crazy. But you don’t have the it-factor of the other more exciting games that have appeared since your heyday. You’re old news. In the background. And not getting any better.”
Crash leans down to pick up the winning ball from the prize and holds it up in front of the camera with a smile. “Sure, you can get something every once in a while... And there’s something charming about how you operate. But you can’t always be sure just what you’re gonna get.” He twists open the lock with a crack and pulls out a worn and folded photo of himself, from when he first joined Level Up.
“Occasionally, you end up getting something you never really wanted in the first place. Nobody requests this match. Nobody. You can pretend you’re happy with it all you like but this isn’t for you. What good is a claw machine against Time Crisis 2? I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news but if you were hoping that his was going to be your big turnaround, then you’re sorely mistaken. I’m going to inherit the fucking world. You can say I stumbled against Salinas but that bitch Larry should never have got involved.”
Crash turns and spits on the floor, turning back to the camera. “What do you call a huntress who gets killed nine time out of ten? I gotta hand it to you, you’ve got persistence. But if the same happened to me, I’d have probably found another game I’m better at.”
Crash turns his back to the camera and start marching out of the arcade. He turns back occasionally to continue his monologue. A kid walking across his path with his face half painted lie Bert McAlroy gets unceremoniously shoved into another group of acne ridden teenagers, sending drink cans and candy wrappers flying everywhere. “Get out of here, idiot!” Crash finally stops at the entrance to the arcade and turns back to the camera.
“Look. You winning against me, isn’t going to happen. Accept it and move on. I could have cashed in my tickets for at least seven victories against you. You’re not on my level. You’ll need a lot more quarters and practice before you can get there. This prize is still out of reach!”
