Ally-way

A dog, half dead, crawled across the ally-way towards us. His brow lowered and his groan grew with every glance his way. Allan smiled and spoke up, noticing my distraction. “It’s only 800 dollars Dan. I can pay you back.” His voice wasn’t considerate of my friendship, or much less my wallet. He’d asked this question before, I’m sure of at least 10 others. He shuffled his coat thrown over his left arm to the other as if impatient. “You know I can pay you back.” He added “Dan.” as if my name added to his argument. The dog was licking at his haunches, a black-red was his wound there. I glanced back over at Allan who had already decided that my uninterest in his situation was in-fact defeat. I pulled my checkbook from my bag and a car went by.
“Sure.” I admitted. Allan consumed the words and retaliated with his newly digested energy.
“Dan, you’re one of a kind, thanks man.” He kept shaking his head in disbelief, which only made me question myself.
“You’re buying a car?” the dog lay down now, giving up on the wound he decided to spend the end watching two aging men trade actions.
“Yeah, it’s so I can drive to work. I got a job over at Laskey’s Auto-Body.” I juggled my checkbook and a pen to write out the 900 dollars then folded the light-pink note in my hand. Allan’s hand was already extended out. I was annoyed by his lack of subtlety, but my love for an old friend drowned my distaste, which got me thinking about the old days.
“And this isn‘t for beer, or anything like that, right Al?” He smiled sincerely,
“You know I quit, and hell.” He glanced over at the dog who pulled his now sagging head over to stare back. “I can‘t afford it even if I wanted.” I placed the thin closed note of grays pinks and American flags into his hand.
“Make sure you stop by so I can take a look at it.” He slid the paper into his back pocket, just behind his thin leather wallet.
“Oh yeah, sure man. Well hey, I’m going to call my ride, thanks again Dan. Tell Leslie I said Hi.” He smirked then pulled out a bulky cell phone, the same one he’d had since college.
“Will do Allan, take care.” I turned and dug my hands into my pockets, then glanced up at the dog, now half buried in the pile of papers and other garbage he‘d chosen for his burial, his defined ribcage and bony back no longer rising and lowering. His tail which had been lightly brushing back and forth since he wandered up to us was now ghostly placid with it’s fine hairs swaying in the breeze. I gave a sniff and climbed the stairs to my apartment.
I spit the blues and grays and chunks of forgotten nourishment into the sink and began rinsing my toothbrush. The morning light found it’s way across Leslie’s face and she rose with rubbed eyes.
“Morning.” She said more to herself than me.
“Yeah, morning. Don’t you have an appointment at 10?” I slid my brush into it’s slot then wiped away the carelessness on my face with a towel.
“No, that’s tomorrow.” She turned over and in the same motion the TV blew up with light.
“Ah.” I replied, as if I understood. The low and unemotional voice from the Television explained that there was news.
“...still picking up the remains of a 6 car pile-up this morning. Police are saying the accident was started when 34 year old male Allan Bremmor was driving home from the bar when moterists say they witnessed Bremmor’s vehicle suddenly begin to swirve back and forth until finally the vehicle clipped a street lamp and his sped out of control, Throwing Allan Bremmor from his recently purchased vehicle to here. 16 feet from his car...” I found myself sitting at the end of the bed, staring at the scene of my best friend’s body lying on a stretcher, a white sheet strewn across him. The ally-way which he’d landed in reminded me of the dog who’d died just outside my own house. My wife was holding her hand over her mouth.
“But... Dan.” She let out a sniffle and a low wine. “Why?”
I stood on my porch with a white thing sticking from my mouth, it’s end red as if dipped in paint. I’d stopped smoking in college as a deal so that Allan would quit drinking. The thing tasted of the past, and hurt. My eyes found a heap of fur and garbage orbited by a mass of winged specks. Maybe if I hadn’t given him the extra 100 he wouldn’t have went out and got drunk? Maybe if I hadn’t been so generous. What if I hadn’t even given him the money for the car? I tossed the addiction down and stepped on it once out of instinct, a second time of anger. The door creaked open and my wife came out in her blue-white sweater and I was reminded of the toothpaste. She hid her hands within the draping mass of yarn the same way she hid her tears with a sip of coffee. Her eyes found what I was looking at.
“Someone needs to clean up these streets.” Her voice was cold and honest.
“Yeah.” I took the cigarettes from my pocket then drew out my lighter, “They do.” I tossed the pack down into the ally along with the dispenser of flame.

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Inspired by Hemmingway's (Who I just read for the first time today) The Indian Camp.

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"I was driving along listening to the radio, when Judas Priest comes on. It was 'You've got another thing coming.' All of a sudden, I enter 'VICE CITY RAMAGE MODE' and nearly ran some guy over"
- ]-[ellequin

Proofread. An ally is a friend, or comrade.

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Baby Mama's Drama

instead, use alley.

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Major projects working on:
SATNRT
JK Pistol Mod
Aliens TC

Or nothing at all.

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Baby Mama's Drama

You seem to use the maximum amount of words and bad metaphors to describe the most innocuous things, and it really doesn't work.

And..please..don't try to emulate Hemingway. Just..just don't.

And use spellcheck

[This message has been edited by Sine Nomen (edited April 14, 2004).]

The layout irritates me too badly to bother.

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