Natsuki Kimura

Natsuki Kimura
Urayasu, Japan
June 21
I live in a country known for its many earthquakes; I live 200 kilometers away from three smoldering nuclear reactors; my father saw the mushroom cloud over Nagasaki as a boy; I watch movies with titles like Neon Genesis Evangelion and Gattaca; I read books with titles like Trout Fishing in America and In Our Time; I make collages about my wife and show them in Tokyo galleries; I spend weekends writing about nukes, aliens, vampires, and love child Vulcans.


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DECEMBER 16, 2012 7:31AM

Short story: Even Shame Fades Away

Rate: 2 Flag




I frequent a bar that's above a storefront church.

The church has a huge Hammond with rotating speakers and an organ player who could shame John Lord, but that's not important right now.

The bar opens around 10. 10PM, of course.

The place is dark and serves either scotch or bourbon.

The drinks are pretty cheap even though the bartender pours us really great stuff; it wasn't until I started drinking single-malt scotch here that I realized just how bad Bushmills really is.

The faces here are always the same and we hardly talk.

We can't, because we all have a mission and that mission is drinking. Drinking is all that matters; everything else is secondary.

Every once in a while a regular disappears for a few weeks and returns with a vague remark or two about being in a hospital.

We all go through it; I just finished my fifth stay last week.

Throughout my stay all I could think about was getting out; and when they did let me out I came here and it felt like home.

At around six in the morning the bartender lets us out and we all go to work; after work is done we eat dinner, put the kids in bed and come here.

(The bartender, incidentally, spends his days as the pastor in the church downstairs. He's from Bremerton, Washington.)

Drinking is a way of life and none of us would trade it for anything else -- not that any one of us could put an end to it.

Not long ago I learned that even shame fades away; when it's gone you feel like something let you go and you feel light.

But not light enough.


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Thank you for sharing this short story, Sir. Not light enough, when you see your life slipping away. My cousin joined AA this year, and I hope her body can heal itself, too.
Ah yes...... I think we all have a bar and a church like that, in our life. They are necessary - as you say.

We do not drink to forget the past.
We drink to forget the future......

Fine writing!