Sins of Smoke

The Storm

[Saturday 12th July, 07:18am]    

I find myself admiring the patience of the man in the booth next to mine. Can't be easy to listen to the ramblings of a nobody – that's how I see myself through his eyes. Thinking about it, I couldn't hold half the attention span that the old preacher showed if my own Pa came waltzing through the doors. I can see his sorry face now and I imagine him opening that door holding his arms out wide with that familiar smile that I used to love. I don't know how I'd be. I suppose I'd like to think I'd give him a chance to explain himself. Not that he'd have much chance to say anything before my fists did the talking. I can be impulsive like that.

The morning sun is well-established now, and a quick check outside shows the heat hitting the old dirt road, sending the terrain into a mystic wobble. Every nook and cranny inside the old church stands proud in the light for all to see as the dust-speckled rays of sun illuminate what was previously unseen. Despite the (did we settle with trellis? I'll say we did) trellis designed to give privacy between talker and listener, I am able to make out enough of his profile that I could pick the old man out in a lineup – should things ever come to that. There's something familiar in the lines that wrinkle across the old man's forehead, comforting even. That grandfather-sat-round-the-fire vibe.

The church bells begin to chime, breaking my chain of thought. A brass reminder that my time is running thin, and after reeling the old preacher in so far, I'd hate to disappoint. I waited for the ancient bell to stop ringing.

Silence followed the eight chime.

*

[Friday 11th July, 10:24pm]    

The room marked private was poorly lit. Barely large enough to hold the table that centred it, the room was what the optimists would call cosy (and the pessimists would call 'cramped as shit'). By the time I had clicked the latch and turned my back to the door Suds was already seated and waiting. I couldn't help but feel like I had walked into some bizarre interview for a job that I never applied for. Everything felt so damn formal. The faint glow from the bulb above allowed the shadows to dance across his face, making his stare all the more sinister as he nodded for me to take a seat. I obeyed.

Suds took his time. Digging his hands into the depths of his pockets he extracted a carton of cigarettes and a crumpled box of matches, scoured through the box to find a match that hadn't snapped in transit, struck along the side of the box and lit the cigarette of his choice, cupping his hand around to encourage the flame. Before dumping the items back in his pocket he extended the pack to me. I declined. I've never been a smoker, and I hardly felt that this was the moment to start. After taking a long drag and exhaling the contents of his lungs into the atmosphere I decided to break the silence.

'Alright, Suds. You got me alone. So you gonna tell me what's happening? You're spooking me out here.'

'Spooked?' came the low, growling reply. 'Spooked? Spooked ain't enough, Coop. If you knew the half of it you'd need a better word for it than spooked.'

I didn't like the tone he took. I sat there confused, hands in my lap like a naughty kid wondering what it was he'd done wrong. What was it that had gotten Suds' back up? Besides from the faint echo of our voices all was silent. Even the murmurs and hums from the bar couldn't make it through the thick walls of this room.

'Then what word would you rather I use? 'Cause I can't really say shit until you tell me what's going on, man. Is it the teasing? I swear, I've been telling them to back off but you know how it is with those guys. One lil joke and that sticks with you for a lifetime. But you don't need to pay it no notice. Ignore it and you'll be fine. Just come out, grab your drinks and finish the night.'