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Okay i did this for something for school and got a good mark on it so i am putting it on here....


Submitted:Sep 16, 2008    Reads: 194    Comments: 2    Likes: 0   


I walked into the town's local pub. I come here after a long day's work, I come here to sit and have a drink, I come here to once again forget about why I come here, I forget all my problems, I forget all the reasons why my wife left me, I forget why my boss is going to fire me, I forget why I am here. The local pub as all sorts here there are the ones who come here who just want a drink and those who come here who are passing, those who have no families, those who have no future. So where do I fit in... I don't know you tell me. The local pub has laughter and crying and somewhere in between. the man next to me has been here awhile, the bar stool he is sitting on wobbles as he staggers out of the door and out to the place where things don't make sense and where there was once peace and love, but not anymore not since our land was been hit with depression. I take another mouth full of the stuff that washes my memories away and once again makes me feel like I have something to live for. At the local pub there is music but the yelling most of the time drowns it out, or I ignore it not wanting to hear the sweet melody that I and my wife danced to. The local pub has waitresses who hand out more drinks to the fat old men who have already had too many. At the local pub there is a poker and guys who bet low, and guys who bet to high, or guys who would bet but have nothing. Some might say I don't belong here because I used to have a wife and kids, because I used to have a life, because no one knows what happens and no one knows why I drink till I pass out and the local sheriff Is called to take me home. I sit in the back so no one will care, I sit in the shadows so no can see me wither in my sorrow, I sit alone so no one can ask. The local pub has rich prospectors and poor peasants I fit somewhere between because I am no longer a rich prospector, but I am not a poor peasant. I'm on my third glass now my memories are slipping, and I once again order another one wanting this nightmare to end. The smell of liquor is slipping my eyesight is blurring and I am once again ordering another one before I once again slip away to unconsciousness. I turn to look over my shoulder to see how my surroundings have changed; there are cards on the floor from the men cheating but dropping the cards never to receive them again. The local pub is dark and gloomy; the cigarette smoke fills the air I breathe in. People tend to sit as far away as they can from me, it might be because I am sending them glares when they approach or it might be because no one ever sits by the guy who has nothing, or who has no future but who knows ....I don't ..... I order another.....this is going to put me over but I drink it anyways. I hear the pub noise fade away into nothingness and I once again am in bliss.





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