The Baker, The Butcher and The Brewer, Part Four – The Bottle 6
Serial Fiction
Always searching for potential romantic prospects. Especially so after the sixth round. But just before the seventh they call the search off and order another. And now they are ready to really open up and tell you how they really feel.
For example.
‘I like people that I have known for six month to a year. People I just met, I don’t trust. People I know for more than a year I know everything about. They know most about me, so it gets repetitive and un-interesting. But in the sweet spot six months to a year it’s familiar but still widely unknown and challenging, both mentally and sexually.’ Said the Butcher.
Striving for complete abstraction I will change the subject.
Like a refried dumpling he stared at me. Wondering away.
Then he ordered number eight and said proudly.
‘Eat your ice cream America because soon we will all be in your belly.’
To his surprise no one laughed. His own laughter chocked in his throat after a few seconds of lonely audibility. He looked around and took a sizable sip on number eight. His brilliance, he thought, went unnoticed. Not the place for abstract thinkers. The public houses that is.
Next.
Forgive me if I skip around but if there is anything I detest it is the normality and its predictable flow.
I struggle still, with the idea that no one would venture to indulge on my rich and colorful personality. Perhaps my label is too cryptic. All these drunks with habits set in stone devour several bottles of tasteless spirits daily. Hence, destroying their brains without feeding their minds.
As you will find you very soon consuming me changes life and alters fates. For once I am incarnated in a protein-based body and can walk and talk there is no limits. If the pond that you used to fish as a kid had gone dry I can fill it up with fresh thoughts.
There is no need to be ashamed of emotions. Embrace them, let them consume you, instead. If you don’t do it on your own time, they will on their terms. Then even a good book will not be able to help.
The duration of my existence is beyond my control. I could be drunk in a few hours and infuse the world with happiness and good memories or I could sit peacefully on a shelf for centuries. I am not sure which is worse. I am unique, there are only a few of my kind, certainly less than there are people, which makes me more singular than a human being. Every time someone takes a sip I get incarnated into the world of men. My ideas become their ideas. My strive for singularity becomes their strive to grow.
Soon I will give the world my most worthy disciple. The one longing for solitude and anonymity. The Brewer.
After number nine nobody could stop him from talking. No one listened for if they were not on number nine they were quite close. The space filled up with buzzing babel of a thousand drunks that knew it all. He raised his voice.
‘I had a dog really quiet fellow, an angel. When I was out of the house he would lounge on the couch. When he heard the key in the door he would move to the floor. What a smart dog he was. Really smart! I miss him.’
His friend was glancing at him out of pity but was frivolously explaining the following to a girl.
‘As a child, I had a big poster of Bruce Lee wearing black pants, no shirt in a very intense karate posture. It was like my alter. I wanted to dress like that all the time. So I walked around the house shirtless wearing black pants. I wanted to go to school like that but my mom didn’t let me.’
She, the listener was doing her best to master her annoyance.
‘I like walking around my apartment shirtless.’ She toyed with him.
His eyes widened and he took a sizable sip on his destruction. Offended by the brevity of her response and with nothing more to say he ordered number ten.
installment Someone screamed across the room.
‘Chewing coca leaves and playing chess with a weak opponent, that’s what I call a vacation.’ It was the Butcher.
Followed by an explosion of laughter from his circle. Sort of a punch line, well executed. It’s good to be popular. It’s good to be the boss.
next: The Baker, the Butcher and the Brewer – The Bottle 7
previous chapter: The Baker, The Butcher and The Brewer – The Bottle 5
first chapter: The Baker, the Butcher and the Brewer – The Baker 1
all chapters: The Baker, The Butcher and The Brewer
more by PETER ODEON
photograph by Georg Nietsch
