Todd Wilson

~TODD WILSON~

Johnny Flashdance sat alone, in a rundown bar.

He wore a clever disguise, or what he assumed was a clever disguise.  Considering the fact that no one had noticed him yet confirmed his suspicions that it must be clever.  Who knew that someone equipped with a cheap dollar store fake moustache, an old leather jacket, and ripped blue baseball cap could hide the identity of a world renowned singer?

It must definitely be clever.

That was one thing he prided himself on, even if it wasn’t that impressive of a feat.  

It was probably one of the few things that he hadn’t messed up in his short lifetime.

With a discouraged gesture of his arm, he waved over the bartender who placed another beer in front of him.  Of course, everything in his life now revolved around his fame, much to his dismay.  There was next to nothing he could do about it, except sit at a ripped plush bar stool and attend his own pity fest.  

At least he was alone.

Johnny’s soul searching was cut off by the harsh ring of the rusted bronze bell hanging above the entrance to the bar.  Out of mere idle curiosity, he lifted his head towards the direction of the sound, just in time to see the new comer lumber in, the flimsy door slamming shut behind him.  

The new comer was a man, who appeared to be in his 40’s, already balding, and had a good sized pot belly to call his own.  Johnny smirked, before turning back to his drink, draining half the bottle in one swig.

And as if the night couldn’t get any worse, it did, for the new man decided that he’d meander over and sit in the seat right next to Johnny’s.  The leather of the stool squeaked in protest, letting out a rushed sigh of air as the man heaved his excessive backside onto the seat.  He waved the bartender over, and within a matter of seconds had an alcoholic beverage in front of him to call his own.

Johnny internally groaned, and glanced unsuspectingly around the bar.  He could count at least 15 other empty seats throughout the dismal complex, all of them a good distance away from him.  

As if on some unforeseen cue, Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer” began to blast from the seat next to him.  Johnny jumped a bit at the sudden noise that cut through the air.  The man to his right scowled, and yanked his phone out of his coat pocket, answering after a moment’s hesitation.

“Yeah… yep… no, no I don’t know which is better,” the man was belting out his replies to whoever was on the other side.  

Johnny didn’t want to appear rude, but he really just wanted to get up and find somewhere else to sit in solitude.  Just as he was about to make the decision to bail, the man’s next words stopped him in his tracks. “Who cares, its just a bunch of clothespins, why does it matter which type?  Well… do you want the stationa-... yes, I know they are the kind your mom uses, but… yes… okay… yep… I-I love ya too.”  

The man sighed and flipped his phone closed, before leaning forwards and talking a long drink out of his beer bottle.  Johnny shifted in his seat, unsure whether he should strike a conversation with this man or not.  Here was someone he could relate to, someone to keep him temporary company...

Johnny cleared his throat, “So, I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about clothespins,” The man looked over at Johnny, “the uh, the stationary one’s are the best.  The ones with the springs tend to fall apart, seeing as they uh, they are made of multiple parts.”

The man looked over at Johnny, his head cocked to the side, a quizzical look upon his flabby face, “Oh yeah?  How do you figure that?”

Johnny smiled at his drink, “I used to work at a hardware store, with my dad…” He trailed off, the statement taking him back to the simpler days.  The days when he was just plain old Todd Wilson…