Kobain

I'm at Kobain last Friday night watching the Astros game and spotlighting Amanda's saggy cleavage as she digs deep in the fridge for my next Miller Light (ML). Amanda has the streaky blonde hair and bad augmentation work of a girl from Beaumont who's got outstanding credit card debt and in desperate need of a greasy Armenian boyfriend with a lisp and an '06 3-Series. I've stared at the top of Amanda's head more than a few times in the last two months wishing she'd use more tongue and less teeth.Not Amanda, but obviously late on her rent.

I live near Kobain in the condo my parents paid cash for. I pay the utilities and HOA fees and call it MY condo, but the parents own it and in turn me too. I make good money, but not enough to live in three stories AND pound white powder in my face each weekend.

Amanda looks over at me during a lull and smiles the indicative smile of a goaless woman with an Associates degree in textiles and an absentee father. I'll see that same smile tomorrow morning only perpendicular to the Tempur-Pedic my parent's got me for Christmas and its going to be awkward again when I don't offer breakfast or walk her back to her car still parked at the bar. Her smile reminds me to check my nightstand for the Rolex I got for graduating college in six years.

I'm waiting for my buddy Dave. Dave has three DUIs and is only allowed to drive to and from work. Dave takes taxis everywhere now, which makes him a tardy motherfucker and panhandler for rides. Its funny, because prior to the license suspension, Dave would get a little fucked up then drive home, but now since Dave doesnt drive anymore, the boner gets paralytic every other night, which has fucked up his life way more than running down a famly of four on the tollway ever could. Since on probation, Dave's chipped a tooth, slept in Uptown park, thrown up on a Bud Light girl and gone home with a 52 year old woman known to frequenters at Ron's Pub as simply "The Hurricane".

I'm playing a variation on the game 18 hole. On the links its 18 beers for 18 holes. At Kobain tonight its 2 beers an inning, one per side. Its the top of the 6th and the Astros are are down 3-4 to the Reds when Dave assaults the door with a far more forceful entrance than required.

Dave sees me at my usual perch, and says a quick hi to some Brooks Brother on the couch on his way over. Dave is a patent attorney at a law firm of weak-willed, emotionally stickerburr'd women, many of whom have fallen prey to compliments and exemplary skills as a liar conversation.

Dave knows I know Amanda, but neither of us knows who fucked her first. He wraps his Ferragamos around the base of the stool and finishes a story, to the audience of Amanda and I, he must have started in the cab. Amanda brings over four shots of Bread Bull (Brandy/RB) for us. A little of the second one dribbles down my chin.

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I hear Amanda in the kitchen making cereal. Looks like I'm walking her to her car.