[For Bill]

[thewordofweb]

The Catscratch Club is not the best place to write memoirs, but I find the ambiance distracting enough, encouraging enough to put down words on the page. I've got a drink in front of me, a cigarette going, and my notebook turned open to a page where I edit out the words before me, recalling my time in Buchloe, just before Landsberg.

Joe is upstairs doing...well, whatever he does up there. I don't priviledge myself to ask because I do trust him and by the time I finish my drink and enjoy the music, he's usually done and we can head home. I see no purpose in going upstairs myself. I wouldn't exactly enjoy the parade of flesh on display, whether female or male.

So I'm far more inclined to write. It's what I like and it passes the time.

Comments

[guinea-trap.livejournal.com]

Bill wonders if that's hurt on Web's face, and he feels bad all of a sudden. He don't know why he came bustin' down the stairs to tell on Joe. Just knows it wasn't right, Joe bein' up there with Helen. Bill just ain't sure whose sake it was that he told.

"I don't...hate...you or nothin'," Bill mutters, followin' Web back to the bar. "Don't hate any of you boys, okay? I just..." He shakes his head, scrubs a hand over his face. Goddamn, he does need that drink.

[thewordofweb.livejournal.com]

I barely restrain myself, wanting to point out that I didn't exactly get a warm welcome, but I know it's as much as my own fault. I stayed away too long, I should have been there, in Bastogne. "Come on, come drink with me. You can ask whatever you want and I'm not going to have my feelings hurt. Besides, Joe's probably bound for some more drinks and I don't think he even knows I'm here," I admit.