I finish my 0800 six pack on the couch. It's Lone Star, you know, the good stuff, and it goes down like cold gravel. I battle with the laptop, positioning myself up and down the couch, trying to get a lock on my neighbor's Wi-Fi. Two bars, but I'm in. I'm connected. I click on the first news story that comes up, something about riots. But it's one of those video stories for people who don't like to read, and I have to watch the commercial. The video stutters to buffer the weak connection. I wait out the stuttering and take a pull from the last bottle of Lone Star, forgetting it's empty. I'd rather just read the story, but's 0800 and I'm drunk. And I don't care about the commercial so much anymore.
In the commercial, a Marine gets sent back in time to the Roman Colosseum. His battle is next. He stands tall in the dress uniform with a sleeve full of yellow and orange stripes. The sabre gets drawn in a crisp motion, and metals shine like a parade of rainbows on his chest. I can almost smell the shaving cream. Must be the cleanest guy in the Colosseum. Or all of Rome for that matter.
The enemy roars like an animal, covered in dirt and chunks of black armor. The net and trident swing wild in his mad advance. Red eyes glow under the dark metal of the helmet. The crowd roars. Before the enemy can take three steps, the Marine takes his head with a flick of the sabre. The enemy falls to his knees, the net and trident helpless in the dirt.
The crowd roars again, and the Marine salutes them with the sabre. The Colloseum changes to a football stadium with people waving American flags. The president is there, and the Marine sheaths the sabre. He salutes again this time with his hand, and the president sticks another metal onto the rainbow parade. The crowd roars. The music plays. The few, the proud, and all that.
I want to get off the couch and start another six, but I'm afraid if I move the laptop that I'll lose my connection. I sit there waiting for the story about the riots, aching for another Lone Star. My couch smells like piss. Probably because some kids broke in the trailer a few days ago and pissed all over the place while I was out getting the Lone Star. They must have been really upset I got nothing of value in here. I keep the laptop and the .45 on me at all times. That day I just happened to take my pills along too. I know they got me patterned. Guess I could stitch them up. .45 does a nice job of that, but I need the bullets for the deer.
I shoot deer from my back porch with the .45. That's how I eat. For money I sell some of the pills. That's what the kids must have been after, the pills I guess. All the kids out here are down for some gang. Even way out where I am. The story about the riots finally buffers up, but it just makes me want another beer. I toss the laptop and lose my connection. I can still smell the piss at the fridge, which makes the lack of remaining Lone Star even more disappointing. Must have knocked back more than I thought last night in my blackout.