Walking The Dead ©

With a bag clenched in my hand I wandered out of the back alleys of the market and into the bright sunlight of the morning.
It was hot, to hot and it sucked what little energy I had left in my body which made standing hard to do let alone walking.
I didn’t even know where I was walking too.

I spied a bench in amongst some cedars and made my way to it.
There was a rot iron fence behind it that was covered with morning glories.
I sat there trying to remember everything that happened the night before but a lot of it was in a foggy haze, too much wine, pot and her.

As I sat there I realized there was no way I was going to make the five miles back home walking, I just didn’t have the energy for it.
I’m getting to fucken old for this shit I thought to myself.
As I sat there thinking I looked across the street and I saw an old greasy spoon I used to eat at when I ran with the wild bunch in the 70s.
Was this a mirage or could it have possibly survived all of these decades among all of these Yuppie joints?
Mustering up what little strength I had left then got up and stumbled towards the mirage.

I stepped inside and scanned the room.
A fat waitress stood at the cash staring at me like she was seeing a ghost for the first time.
I did my best to show her a smile and made my way deeper into this cave from my past until I found a stool in front of the cook who was working hard at making all the grease covered breakfasts people were ordering.

The fat waitress walked down to me and asked me what I wanted to order.
I looked up at her.
Her face looked familiar and I looked deeper into her eyes and I knew who she was.
She was the same waitress that was here thirty years ago, older and fatter but it was her.
I told her I wanted four eggs, sausage, ham, bacon and pancakes, two cokes and a large orange juice with a shot of bourbon.
She told me that she couldn’t give me the bourbon for another twenty minutes.
I told her it was fine.
The bourbon would straighten out my head a bit; it’s not the cure but it will slow down the withdrawals of the previous night until I got home to my bed.

I looked to my left and saw a sign indicating where the washrooms were so I pushed off from the counter, picked up my bag and made my way to the back and the men’s room.
It was surprisingly clean when I stepped in and walked to the sink and ran the water then looked at the mirror.
Fuck, I looked like shit.
No wonder the waitress thought she was looking at a dead man.

I bent down and washed my face running cold water through my hair hoping to cool down the my head and clear the brain some.
I looked back to the mirror and I still looked like crap.
Tilting my head over I could see bruises on my neck and a piece of a bite just below the collar of the shirt.
Pulling down the collar a little and could see another one next to it.
I looked like I lost a fight with a flock of vampires.

Moving from the sink to one of the stall I locked the door behind me and pulled out the gear to go for a piss and it was tender from the handling it got the night before.
After that I washed my hands and went back outside to my seat just in time.

The cook turned with a large platter filled with my breakfast and dropped it in front of me.
I looked up to thank him and was stunned to see that it was the same owner from thirty years ago and he hadn’t aged a day since then and I told him as much.
He sneered and told me that wasn’t him, it was his father but he worked there back then to then asked me if I used to go there because I looked familiar.
Those were bad years back then.
Years I have pushed deep into my subconscious.
This is where all the hookers and drug dealers used to come in the wee hours of the morning to eat after a day of debauchery
I told him I was in once a long time ago a really long time ago.

The first thing I took was a can of coke, which I drank in one gulp.
I hate hot coffee but will drink anything cold with caffeine in it; then I dove into the food.
My body was aching to get some energy and don’t even recall what it tasted like just that it was filling up the gas tank.
The cook turned and dropped four toasts next to me.
I didn’t care for the toast with the pancakes so I looked at some old wino sitting two stools down drinking a coffee and asked is he wanted my toast.
I could see he needed some food and probably couldn’t afford any.
He said he did so I slide the plate down the counter to him and went back to my food.

I wolfed down all the food in about fifteen minutes then chugged the second can of coke behind it to help it on its way to my bloodstream.
The waitress came over and put a shot of bourbon in front of me then wandered off back to her perch at the cash once more.
I took a sip of the orange juice and sat there for a bit looking at the inside of the restaurant.
The whole place looked like it did all those years ago, the customers were new but cut from the same cloth as those from back when I was a punk like them.
How many of these kids will be found dead soon and how many will live to remember them?

I picked up the juice glass one last time and finished it then stood up and wiped my lips then dumping the napkin into the empty plate.
I could feel life slowly racing through my veins once more.
Taking the shot of bourbon I pushed it to the back of my mouth and felt it burn its way down my raw throat.
Then I walked to the cash and asked the waitress how much the breakfast was.
She said $22.50 with the shot so I left her thirty and walked out the door.
I hadn’t gotten five steps when I heard a voice calling out from behind me, “Sir, your bag”.

Turning I saw the fat waitress with my bag in her hand so I went back.
While taking it from her hand I told her to call me Walker, not Sir then went back on my way up the street through old memories and back towards home.
Half way home my cell rang and it was my mother calling to see if I was coming next door for lunch.
She thought I was still home and didn’t know I was missing all night.

My mother hates it when I don’t stay home over night.
She remembers the old days and the two phone calls telling her that her son lay dead once in a puddle of blood on cement steps and another time on a hospital bed with machines pumping blood and oxygen through his veins.

I told her I wasn’t home and had gone for a walk but would be home shortly then hung up and went to a Tim Horton’s for an Ice Cappuccino.
It was still hot out as I made my way to familiar territory and closer to home.
Archie’s place was close by so I decided to head off there first to sit down for a breather and let my head clear a bit more.

Archie’s voice bellowed my name from a block away as I got closer to his place.
Him and Bernie were sitting just inside the door of the kitchen drinking beer when I walked up the steps and fell into a chair.
I placed the bag on the table and accepted the beer Arch handed to me.
He stared at the bag and asked what I brought him and I told him nothing.
What was in the bag was mine and he was not to touch it.

He asked me what I was doing out this early in the day and why I was coming from the other direction?
I told him I was on my way home from a party I was at the night before.
He gave me a look and asked why he wasn’t invited to the party and I told him because it was a private party.
Then he started whining like a child about why he wasn’t invited blah blah blah.
I told him to shut up, I couldn’t take his crap this early in the day.
I swear, as he gets older his brain gets more fucken childish.

A few minutes after finishing my beer I got up to go to the washroom and release the ice cap and other fluids I drank before I got to here.
I was standing in front of the toilet listening to the sounds of the Pissfall I was making when I heard Archie go nuts.

“OMG”!!!
“GET IT OUT OF HERE”.
“Bernie throw it out the door, FAST”.

“I’m not touching that”.

“WALKER. GET IT OUT OF HERE, NOW”!!!!!!!!

I knew the fat fucker couldn’t resist and had to open the fucken bag.
Putting the gear back in my pants I flushed the toilet and took my time washing my hands as Archie screamed and yelled from the kitchen.
After drying my hands I walked back to the kitchen.

“What the fuck is your problem”?

“I WANT THAT OUT OF MY HOUSE” he said while pointing at the bag.

“Didn’t I tell you not to touch that bag, eh, DIDN’T I”?
“I should shoot the both of you now for sticking your nose where id doesn't belong”.

Archie got up and hurriedly ran to one of the cupboards and pulled out a small bottle and then threw liquid at me and the bag.

“WTF is that shit”.

“Holy water”.

“Well stop throwing it at me you fat fuck”.

“We got to keep the devil back”.

“If you don’t stop soaking me I’ll send you straight to hell and you could tell it to him personally”.
“Why did you open the bag when I specifically told you not to”?

“Because it’s in my house and I look at everything in my house’.

“Well the bag is in your house but what’s in it is my business”.
“Where the fuck are you going Bernie, sit the fuck back down”?

“But I have to go”.

“Shut up and have another beer, you’re not going anywhere until i tell you to go".

“Walker, what’s that on your neck”?

I touched my throat and looked down while pulling the collar for him to see.

“A Vampire bit you”.

“I think so”.
“Stop dousing me with the fucken water for fucks sake”!

“Don’t bite me”.

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKEN MIND”?!
“Why the hell would anyone want to bite you, vampire or not”.

“Where did you get that thing” pointing to the bag?

I sat back in the chair and opened another beer.
“I got it last night at the witch's place”.

“I told you to stay away from her”.

“Give me that fucken bottle you sick bastard”.
“Yeah I went to her place last night and it was ………………..”

Have a nice day

Walker