Once My Looks Go, I've Got Nothing

     One night, I was supposed to meet a friend of mine at a dingy but reasonably-priced local watering hole. As it happens, my friend ended up unable to meet me due to a family emergency...or so they said, anyway. Rather than immediately go home, where there was no beer, I decided to soak up some local color and hang around for a drink or two. As I sat at the bar fiddling around with my cell phone, an elderly gentleman wearing a shirt that looked like it should be covering a picnic table sat down next to me. After some small talk about the weather and whatnot, the man blindsided me with the following story, which I transcribe here word-for-word, more or less. Naturally, I don't believe a word of it. But  the look in that elderly gentleman's eyes told me that he did.      If I had known how much trouble it was gonna cause me, I never woulda shot Terry Merton. Now, don’t get me wrong, everybody knows old Terry had it coming. He was stealing from me left and right, and it

             He came in that night, same as any other. Sat down on that green stool in the corner, the one with the big tear right down the middle that exposes the white fluffy stuffing inside, wisps of it sticking out like the hair of an elderly clown. He likes that one stool in particular. Says it suits him.      “You made it just in time,” I said to him with a smile. “Fifteen minutes until the ball drops.” As ever, my smile was not returned.      “Just give me the usual,” he grunted, scratching the top of his head. “And spare me the ball talk.”      I grabbed a frosty pint glass from beneath the bar. As I raised it, tiny pinpoints of light twinkled along the surface, reflections from the multicolored Christmas lights still strewn around the bar. There was no point in taking them down until January at least; hell, I thought, I might just leave them up all year ‘round. Might brighten the place up. I filled the glass to the brim with the cheapest beer we had on tap, a bi

     I wrote this several years ago and submitted it to McSweeney's. They didn't publish it, but I got some pretty positive feedback on it. I figured I would share it with the world in the hopes that someone might derive some joy from reading it.         I’m sitting on a curb in the Vandelay Center mini-mall, the dark concrete shimmering and waving as though it’s about to warp out of reality or something.   The sun is perched above the earth in a perpetual explosion, making each breeze feel like it’s coming from a giant hair dryer.   My knees ache from 20 years of tedious plumbing jobs.   I’ve just exited Coldstone Creamery, and directly in my line of sight lies the big red and white sign with a cartoon ice cream cone, hanging above the brick edifice with its array of peculiarly smudge-free windows.   As I slowly run my tongue over my double scoop of mint chocolate chip, I observe the seemingly happy employees in white paper hats performing repetitive motions.   The t