a new story
'afrodite hank' suffered a nasty reputation on account of the horrible fat and ugliness he lugged around on what was rumoured to be quite a beautiful frame. every once in a great while, you could be sitting at the bar in a greek/american restaurant and overhear a muddy ethnic conversation on the shame that was old hank.
"he yousa ta be so good lookin. when he owna that recud store ova onna Duncan. alla da school girls wooda be buyin 'Smothas Bruthas Comedy Album' just to hang arown dare. you rememba"
there was always some reference to a drug being the reason for his rumbling physical avalanche. no details on which one, just that dirty drug allusion. me, i've always been interested in drugs, so, i read up on my 'Nancy Drew Mysteries' and kept a sharp eye open to see which poison did this to the poor bastard.
well, on a sweet spring day, when the air was full of that protein/semen smell of green, growing things, i spyed old hank hisself sitting alone in the window booth at Jack and Bennys Breakfast Bar. he had a bowl of dry cereal and a grapefruit, one half eaten the other abandoned, sitting in front of him (was that a show for the passerbys? did he have a flask of waffle batter under the table?). his sausage fingers were tracing fat circles on the table top, leaving greasy trails behind like a slug. i was mezmerized. it was like watching a small fat pig figure skating on a linoleum floor.
a bell jingled when i opened the door. jack, standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen, waved me to my choise of tables. as my eyes adjusted themselves to the dark dining room, i saw an old couple sitting at a booth along the back wall. they were both languidly staring at me from under heavy lidded eyes. they looked back to theit hardened scrambled eggs after a second and i turned my attention to hank.
his eyes were still following the lead forged by his chunky digits on the gray and white formica. in one fluid motion i slid into his booth. i brushed his knee with mine and, as he sat bolt upright in that fatman slow motion,i felt a tremor and that funny give in the floor that accompanies any sudden jerky movements by an elephant. startled, he looked at me with a mixture of distrust and embarassment.
"hey, hank. i'm jonah glass." I reached over the table and shook hands with the behemoth. it was like shaking a toaster oven wrapped in a pancake. when he let go of my hand, i got goosebumps from the airconditioning drying the sweat off it. his hand was so sweaty, i was suprised it wasn't dripping.
"so, hank. did you get to do all the stuff you wanted to when you were over in europe?"
hank stared blankly at me through those puffy slits.
i took a pack of nudey playing cards out of my breast pocket and slid them across the table. they got bogged down halfway through on a baconfat figure eight. hank picked them up, opened them and without a modicum of restraint or self control, slarted flipping through them , holding the stack no more than 2 inches in front of his eyes.
i snapped my fingers to get his attention a few times with no effect. then, i leaned over the table and snapped a few times right next to his left ear.
nothing.
tiny, white foamy saliva was collecting on the edges of his.
"HANK!" the sound of a few glasses cliking together tumbled out from the kitchen. i had yelled a bit loud. "come on dude, stay with me here."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
more in a bit. i've got to run for a minute.
seemore II
'afrodite hank' suffered a nasty reputation on account of the horrible fat and ugliness he lugged around on what was rumoured to be quite a beautiful frame. every once in a great while, you could be sitting at the bar in a greek/american restaurant and overhear a muddy ethnic conversation on the shame that was old hank.
"he yousa ta be so good lookin. when he owna that recud store ova onna Duncan. alla da school girls wooda be buyin 'Smothas Bruthas Comedy Album' just to hang arown dare. you rememba"
there was always some reference to a drug being the reason for his rumbling physical avalanche. no details on which one, just that dirty drug allusion. me, i've always been interested in drugs, so, i read up on my 'Nancy Drew Mysteries' and kept a sharp eye open to see which poison did this to the poor bastard.
well, on a sweet spring day, when the air was full of that protein/semen smell of green, growing things, i spyed old hank hisself sitting alone in the window booth at Jack and Bennys Breakfast Bar. he had a bowl of dry cereal and a grapefruit, one half eaten the other abandoned, sitting in front of him (was that a show for the passerbys? did he have a flask of waffle batter under the table?). his sausage fingers were tracing fat circles on the table top, leaving greasy trails behind like a slug. i was mezmerized. it was like watching a small fat pig figure skating on a linoleum floor.
a bell jingled when i opened the door. jack, standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen, waved me to my choise of tables. as my eyes adjusted themselves to the dark dining room, i saw an old couple sitting at a booth along the back wall. they were both languidly staring at me from under heavy lidded eyes. they looked back to theit hardened scrambled eggs after a second and i turned my attention to hank.
his eyes were still following the lead forged by his chunky digits on the gray and white formica. in one fluid motion i slid into his booth. i brushed his knee with mine and, as he sat bolt upright in that fatman slow motion,i felt a tremor and that funny give in the floor that accompanies any sudden jerky movements by an elephant. startled, he looked at me with a mixture of distrust and embarassment.
"hey, hank. i'm jonah glass." I reached over the table and shook hands with the behemoth. it was like shaking a toaster oven wrapped in a pancake. when he let go of my hand, i got goosebumps from the airconditioning drying the sweat off it. his hand was so sweaty, i was suprised it wasn't dripping.
"so, hank. did you get to do all the stuff you wanted to when you were over in europe?"
hank stared blankly at me through those puffy slits.
i took a pack of nudey playing cards out of my breast pocket and slid them across the table. they got bogged down halfway through on a baconfat figure eight. hank picked them up, opened them and without a modicum of restraint or self control, slarted flipping through them , holding the stack no more than 2 inches in front of his eyes.
i snapped my fingers to get his attention a few times with no effect. then, i leaned over the table and snapped a few times right next to his left ear.
nothing.
tiny, white foamy saliva was collecting on the edges of his.
"HANK!" the sound of a few glasses cliking together tumbled out from the kitchen. i had yelled a bit loud. "come on dude, stay with me here."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
more in a bit. i've got to run for a minute.
seemore II
Last edited:
