Following the spectacular failure of my first book, I’ve been hesitant to jump back on the horse. However, my funny bone has a short circuit at the moment. Let no one tell you that comedy is easy.
As I’ve struggled to write jokes, a character jumped up from the void and started rampaging through my head. If I don’t let him out onto the paper, he will drive me utterly insane.
I tend to write very long chapters, so I thought I’d break them up so you could read them in passing rather than setting aside spare time for little ol’ me.
I have a vague idea where this is going. Right now, I just have to chase the character rather than a story line and see where he takes me.
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The sunrise was a deep red above the deep green of the patch of woods beyond the balcony. The babble of a rain swollen stream mixed with the birdsongs in the air. I leaned on the railing at lit my first cigarette of the day. It would have been a wonderful morning, if it weren’t for the smell of raw sewage drifting from the creek. The recent thunderstorms had overburdened the sewage treatment plant upstream.
The first drag on my cigarette sent my body into a long coughing fit as my lungs tried to expel the morning after phlegm. I spit results into the lawn and took a big sip out of my coffee mug to wash the taste from my mouth. It had been a long and ill-advised night, my two roommates and I had gone out for a few drinks before the first day of classes. Somehow, three beers had turned into twenty before we’d all stumbled back to our beds.
I was trying to piece together the entire night, specifically the name of the redhead I was talking to at the bar, when I heard the door open behind me. I slid over to a corner of the small balcony to accommodate my friend, Charley. As always, the big man seemed unaffected by the previous night. I can barely have a six pack without expecting a rotten morning, but Charley had shaved, showed, dressed, and eaten before I’d even rolled out of bed.
Charley was dressed in a polo shirt and khakis. He wore his clothing with as much ease as he might a suit of armor. His stiff posture only served to emphasize the areas where his off the rack clothing struggled to accommodate his six and a half foot physique. Seeing Charley dressed up for his first day of med school shook me out of my hangover enough to worry about the time.
“Is Paul out, yet,” I asked. Charley shook his head at my question and packed a large pinch of Grizzly chew into his lower lip. Paul was our third roommate and he took more time to get ready for a trip to the supermarket than most high school girls do for the prom. I set off at a mad dash most mornings to get into the bathroom before him. Losing the race meant a soggy bathroom and cold water.
“Dammit, if he doesn’t get out soon I’ll be late,” I said.
“He’s only been in there for fifteen minutes. You’re screwed.”
“Fuck, I smell like an ashtray.” Charley simply shrugged at that and spat over the railing. It didn’t matter what I looked or smelled like, and he knew it. I could walk in to class reeking of cheap gin and tobacco and no one would bat an eyelid. Everyone in my classes, including the professors, expected it.
Two years ago in undergrad, I’d have fit right in. Now, the two weeks of black growth on my face, my dirty jeans, and Goodwill t-shirts were my scarlet letter, markings to let the aspiring professionals and activists know it was acceptable to dismiss me. I’d never thought to change. I figured I’d have the rest of my life to squeeze into cheap suits broken up only by weekends and casual Fridays. I couldn’t see the point of primping to sit for three hours of PowerPoint lectures.
I flicked my butt over the railing to join the dozens already littering the grass and walked inside to the living room. It was a wonder the landlord never bitched about them. Although judging by the state of our apartment, he didn’t care too much about trivial aesthetics. The only way to describe the place was four walls and a roof. The architects had even been kind enough to leave out anything resembling a right angle. I suppose it made for easier cleaning. Empty, it looked like a cut-rate crack house, and the decorating sensibilities of three men in their mid twenties did little to add to the overall atmosphere.
The living room walls were bare of any decoration, and the only furnishings were a threadbare couch and loveseat set we’d drug off the curb when we moved in and a particleboard coffee table. A huge high definition television set dominated the back wall. Charley had purchased that in a fit of boredom, and his student loans were still a long way off in paying for it.
The living room stretched right into the kitchen, without even a counter to separate the two. The linoleum and the counters were cracked and dirty, and a pile of unwashed dishes sat in the sink. No room in the entire apartment was more indicative of our landlord’s apathy. A monstrous oven from the fifties sat in the middle of the room, and the refrigerator in the corner was ancient the day the oven rolled off the assembly line. We’d initially tried to store food in the noisy behemoth, but I believe it actually caused food to spoil faster. At least it made enough noise lessen the racket of our neighbors’ loud fucking sessions. The oven was only good for storing tax forms and student loan applications.
Being a college student these characters sound very familiar (as does the poor student housing!).
Good as always and I look forward to seeing the direction of this promising story.