Friday, September 29, 2006


I spat. It was a thick dark bloody spit. It looked like a purple stain on the wooden ground. Right there it was. Sweating between two boards of pin down the bar. “Hell's Bar” that's the name of the place. You can't miss it. Right there. At the corner of Nowhere and Far Beyond.

The damn place was packed. Luckily enough I spotted the stool. But that's me. I'm that kind of guy. I was seating between Al Quaida and Hez Bollah if you really care about it. All of us slowly drinking our beers. I wished it could have been brandy. But it's too expensive. And I'm running out of teeth. I saw Malaria heading towards the poker table. The horn knew by heart what kind of night it was. Shit. She made me foam like an epileptic. That's what I call a lady. Even Lucifer stopped shaking his cocktail for a second. Cocktail. What a hell of a joke. A bloody Mary for Al Quaida. The guy has teeth you can be sure of that. He smiled. And it was a hell of a smile. As bright as the Kilimanjaro. Bad luck a cocktail is three teeth. That's why I stick to beer. I'm a regular kind of guy for sure.

Lucifer always smiled when you pay him. 32 shining teeth. All in gold. I was looking at him if you want to know. The man had style you can't deny that. You should see him behind the bar. And his hand as he smokes his cigarillo. Fine and pale with long yellow nails. And I don't mention the rings. Rings of emerald and sapphire which sparkled in the sombre and heavy clouds of smoke. I bet he was as excited as a castrated dog. And that smile which chiseled his face just above his mustache. A very nice mustache by the way. Nicely shaved. Dark hairs gently cut all around his lips. Looking great with his eyes. I never stare at him. I can't stand those eyes. They burn me right through my trachea down to my sphincter. And tonight they were blossoming and illuminating his silhouette with that sort of aura that makes me drink my beer as fast as I can. Lucifer was jubilating in his white three-piece suit. More than ever it was his night. He patted the hyacinth that stuck out of his pocket. I rolled a cigarette because I felt nervous. And I turned back facing the room and puffing like a steam-boat.

We were all there. Myself your humble narrator and of course Al Quaida and Hez Bollah. I contemplated my belly for a while. All this fat crawling out of my shirt and that I was trying to hide behind my jacket. I was old-school. That's why I was wearing a tie tonight. Usually I don't because I vomit all the time and vomit is not good for silk. It's too acid. Ask Tuberculosis about it. He ruined all his ties. Now he comes almost naked. A wise guy and a good friend of mine. Always pleasant to chat with him. Sitting on a chair at the far end of the Hell's Bar I could see Cancer. A solitary kind of chap. Never talks the prick. But a good drinker I have to say. Perhaps because he was blind I don't know but I never heard the sound of his voice. Only the tapping of his silver cane. Tap tap tap. You knew he was here. The rumor goes that he once had an affair with Syphilis. I couldn't testify on that one personally. But I wouldn't be surprised though. He's definitively her kind of fellow. Magnificently filthy. Right now she was laughing with Plague. The old man was wicked. Let me get it straight. Always dressed to kill. And a fantastic lover I bet. Damn. And those two rats sitting on his shoulders, one black and one white, what a good flirting trick. His eyes were mischievous you know. After all he has been waiting quite a long time for this night. Not as long as Lucifer of course, but long enough to be all piping hot the joyful bastard.

I asked for another beer. Because drinking compensates silence. And because I wanted to swallow a gulp when he'll be coming. I believe we were all feeling the same. I pulled out a tooth and pitched it right down the till. I'll give him my best smile. All gap-toothed and all. Irresistible. I laughed and Lucifer gave me my beer. It won't be long now he told me with his wheezy voice. Our new member. I could feel the tension stretching in our veins. Nazi and Fascist were even trembling. You knew something was going on just by looking at that crowd. The way we were all drinking. Slowly and carefully. With great caution. Gazing at the opaque liquors and at the spotty glints of the sparkling bubbles. It was so intense that I felt like running down to the bathroom.

And then silence. Nothing but jerky breaths. Chests going up and down. And down and up. And again and again. The door squeaked. A blow of rotten air came swirling down the bar. There he was. Lucifer was crying. His mascara leaking down his cheeks. There he was. He winced. And I saw all his teeth. I'll trade my fat if he's not severely drunk at the end of the night. Lucifer laughed. And he laughed too.

But what kind of beer do you serve to God ?