Chapter 1

I set the sixer on the counter.

The clerk, a kid who didn’t look old enough to have a job let alone sell alcohol said, “ID?”

Damn stupid state law. Don’t matter how old you look you gotta show ID. I know, I know, I know ... it’s to protect the employee ... I know that. Some state legislator owned a string of stores in his district. The stores sold beer.

The clerks weren’t too picky about who they sold to. The cops sent a baby face in and busted ten of his stores for under age sales.

Sure I know ... yeah ... the legislator sponsored a police brutality bill and they set him up. I know that.

Now EVERY sale ... including restaurant single drink sales has to be logged and the customer sign for each drink.

Customer name, DL number, Home address, Drink, Server, Signature.

EVERY one.

Several cops in his district either owned restaurants or had investments in them. They were hurt the most. Divorces were won because some sap was drinking with a female not his spouse and the idiot couldn’t buy a bottle and rent lodgings. He just had to take her out and brag. Show off!

I hauled out my wallet, took out my license and laid it on the counter.

You can’t flip out a vinyl covered ID ... No ... it’s got to be on the counter. The clerk has to touch it ... Yeah ... Really. Put his slimy fingerprint on it. Got any idea how many times I caught a cold because some sick clerk had wiped his nose and fingered my license? Plenty! That’s how many.

A sixer ... the carton has a bar code ... the register camera records the sale ... the kid records the sale. I sign for it. Yes Officer, I bought the beer.

It’s got to go in the trunk, unless you’re walking ... better not be more than two blocks home. College kids ... most of them don’t drive; but that’s Okay ... if they live in the dorms they’re too young to drink.

Like these three. Little honeys ... nice boobs ... tight asses ... ooh ... look it the legs on that one ... all the way to heaven.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, mister.”

What?

“Staring ... you’re staring.”

What do you expect ... the bitches are prime ... and that’s the way it works. Fine ... they won’t be in a few years ... but ... now ... oh man.

“Mister, you keep staring and I’m gonna call the cops.”

“Why ... because I appreciate beauty?”

“Because you’re old.”

“Maybe ... but I’m not dead.”

They pay for three fountain drinks and out the door, glaring at me. It’s not me who’s staring.

The clerk finished filling out the paperwork and bags up the sixer. With out the bag it’s a “Visual Affront” and “offends our Muslim students.”

I push the trunk button on my key opener. So I can put the sixer in the trunk.

Because it goes in the trunk, I can’t sip a cold one driving home ... and that’s why I bought the damn thing in the first place.

Work sucked today. My boss ... the prick ... stole MY idea ... pawned it off as his own ... the bastard got the bonus. The fucker never had an original thought ... but he’s married to the general manager’s niece.

A sixer. I could drink the whole thing and still blow legal ... but it’s an open container violation. Fuckers. But ... that’s why we elect ‘em ... lawmakers. If they don’t make laws ... they don’t have jobs.

“Mister?”

“Mister?”

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look so good.”

Fuck ... here comes the cops ... two of them ... and one of the girls ... the mouthy one.

Shit!

They get out of the car and instantly draw their batons.

“Before you guys get all out of shape ... they have surveillance tapes here.”

“You’re sure?” the cop asked the girl.

“Yeah. He insulted me.”

“Miss ... that’s not a reason ... not in any law on the books.” The cop said, “If you have bruises ... semen ... we can take it from there.”

“You’re going to let this dirty old man ... walk?”

“Yes!”

She slapped me.

They arrested her.

She resisted.

Wonderful!

But ... the stress...

I woke up in a ... hospital bed. There was a steady ... beep. and a monitor that wrote out my life on graph paper.

You’ve heard the line, “The operation was a success but the patient died?”

Chapter 2 »