last night convinced me of this. because neither one of you can keep it in your pants, one night, perhaps tonight, tomorrow or the weekend, some jilted lovelorn psycho will come in here armed to the teeth with something (nail gun, machete, drum-ful of acid, couple sticks of dynamite or big gasoline can fulla gasoline) and lay waste to everyone here. the death of us all. either jimmy or i will undoubtedly die first, since we're the ones nearest the door most nights and while the thought of a world without jimmy doesn't exactly sadden me, the thought of a world without me makes me sad as hell. steve. laura. sad as hell. 

and i don't even like my life! how often am i bitching and moaning bout how crappy my life is! least eleven times a day i go 'what a crappy thing this is, this life of mine.' every morning, every single morning, i wake up and once i realize who i am and where i am and how i am (it takes a couple seconds, those initial flits of consciousness are disorienting and unsettling), i think to myself, 'oh crap, here we go again, yet another DAY.' yet still, i would choose this life, my life, over death, especially death at the hands of someone deep in the throes of unrequited love, someone who can't continue without either one of you two goddamn whores.

now, you may think you are being judged. you are not. i am not judging you, there is no JUDGMENT happening here, not getting MORALISTIC on you. i think no less of you as people just because as soon as your significant others are not looking, you have your jeans halfway off (laura) or announce to those fortunate few within earshot that you 'just found your horny' (steve).

honestly. i don't care what you do, as long as what you do doesn't cause me to die. i am not asking you to be chaste or abstinent or to screen your lover-candidates so strictly that no one is ever allowed to sample your sexual wares. i am, however, asking that you don't sleep with people whose reaction to being snubbed, cast aside, is to come into your place of work (this place right here, right here where you're standing) and scare/creep the ever-loving shit/bejesus outta me.

cause that's what happened, all right, last night and the night before. monday, this guy came in, asked for you, laura, i said you weren't working, but she'll be in wednesday afternoon. you know how crazy people give off that crazy people vibe? and comparatively sane people can sense it? nature's animalistic way of telling the comparatively sane to steer clear? well, he gave it off and i sensed it. not only sensed it but saw him shaking. trembling. either with rage or cause he was cold from just being outside, but i was taking no chances, i erred on the side of rage trembles. shoulda saw how fast i high-tailed it to the other end of the bar. stood at the pass and pretended to be real interested in the steaks and ribs and there was also a cobb salad there at the time, REAL INTERESTED.

he remained, still, poised, as if ready to ... commence the purification, i guess, for what seemed an eternity. i asked julie if she recognized him and she said oh that's just vince.

ah, see, i KNEW you wouldn't remember his name. julie keeps track of your men better than you can. she knew all about him. you told her he wasn't even a good romp. the guy had no rhythm, just went to town on your privates with no sense of occasion, no flair. member? and THAT'S the guy that's gonna come in here and go on some kinda killing spree? i'm gonna die, at least let it be at the hands of someone who knows the importance of occasion and flair. like andre. member how good you said he was? all you talked about for a WEEK was how skilled a lover andre was. i'd let a guy like that kill me.

but do me (and all of us) a big huge favor and call vince back. let him down gently. just cause he ran roughshod over your body in a way you found less than gratifying sexually doesn't mean he shouldn't get the common courtesy of 'please don't call me text me or come into my place of employment and freak the shit outta one of the owners.' i know i always appreciated it when i got those calls.

oh, hey, steve, where you think you're going, no, i'm getting to you, i'll get to you right now. relax. you're not on for another ten minutes. here. see. no, LAST night, someone came in looking for you, i knew who she was straight off. she was the one who wore the hello kitty sweatshirt. member her? and i TOLD you, told you before you even made the move which no woman apparently can resist, told you 'hey, steve, go easy on her, hello kitty sweatshirt like that, she might not be like your other women, she might be fragile. delicate.' you told me your body needs what your body needs. member? then the next day you sauntered in here and showed me the scratch marks.

yeah. her.

well, no, in fact, she WASN'T wearing the sweatshirt again, smart-ass. BUT she sat at the bar, she didn't believe me when i said you don't work tuesdays. she sipped a seven-up, then a ginger ale cause the seven-up tasted flat and kept glancing at the basement door like you were gonna emerge from behind it. but that's not crazy. crazy is when she showed me her iphone, told me she got it cause you recommended it, then she showed me a picture on the phone, a picture of some russian dog shelter, all these sad looking russian dogs. she had tears in her eyes, honest to god tears. from dogs on a phone. i love dogs as much as the next dog-lover, but ... who keeps and cries at sad looking russian dogs on his/her phone, steve? crazies, that's who. dangerous, unsafe crazies.

then she used the phone to tell SOMEONE it was happening all over again, then she asked me what i was eating and i said oh, just a bit of roasted red pepper dip. she said it looks like chunks of flesh and i said excuse me, cause i couldn't possibly have heard THAT one right, and she said chunky flesh.

yeah, you're damn right that's unusual. REAL unusual. who knows, maybe my ears were imagining things, but swear to god then she muttered to herself something that sounded an AWFUL lot like 'bits of my heart.' i sat there with my bell's winter white trying to figure out what else it could have been, you know, something that rhymed. couldn't do it, steve. nothing rhymes with bits of my heart. nothing that makes sense anyway, nothing that flows logically from chunky flesh. even trying to use a fucking looney tunes barking mad lunatic's logic wouldn't let me come up with some less troubling phrase.

looked at her and thought two things: wow, poor woman, she's got problems upstairs in the old brainpan, AND holy shit we're all gonna die, specially me. which i would really rather not have happen. die here.

or do i look like i want to die at work. do i? can you think of ANYONE who would want to die at work? maybe a rock star, MAYBE, or an athlete, prolly, or i spose a priest wouldn't mind dying in a church very much. but i most certainly do not want to die in my own restaurant. not only would it be a depressing last vision before i left this realm for hopefully another, but it would be bad for business! very very VERY bad!

oh, yeah, fine, TELL me i'm overreacting. yeah, fine, why would YOU care. you're one of those guys who emerges from everything unscathed. never a scathe on you. prolly make sure someone was between you and all the scathing. prolly use me as a human shield. not that i'd shield you much, cause you're big as a house. (getting bigger by the day, so enjoy the sexual conquests while you can, steve, i guess.) and me, i'm thin as a rake, built like a parking meter, a q-tip, i'd offer precisely zero protection.