Man in the Cab || ✔

I

Jaxon Dempsey found himself staring at a graphic image on the wall of the neglected alley whereby a naughty sexual act was taking place. It was a penis in pink spray paint—well, it was a blowjob, but the penis itself was pink. The woman's lack of a gag-reflex awed Jaxon, and he found himself fantasizing about how his wedding night was supposed to go. Perhaps it wouldn't have been such a passionate ordeal as depicted in the spray paint, but certainly sex of some sort with his would-be wife would be transpiring right around now.  

Lurking in a crevice between two brick buildings, Jaxon Dempsey withdrew a flask from within his suit jacket; it had been empty for quite some time. With his animated gesturing and no cap on his flask, the liquid had long been lost as he waved his arms about and now resided—in equal parts—on the ground and on his suit. As he tipped it back, only a couple drops of rum landed successfully on his tongue. The alley reeked of piss, though it had become steadily less foul as faint droplets of rain fell from the starry sky.

If one looked briefly, they'd observe the quiver in his legs as he struggled to stand, the garbled speech as he talked with enthusiastic hands to nothing in particular, and the way his head was drooping, but this was a superficial observation. If one took the time to truly regard the scene, they would see clenched fists, tear-stained cheeks, and an absolute sadness that only heartbreak could cause.

The door to the bar behind Jax opened with a boom as the door went flying into the wall. Jax did not turn around because he knew who was there. It was his best friend, Zach, who had tagged along to his pity party. Earlier in the week, last Tuesday, Jaxon's boss had texted him and told him to find a new job. Yes. Texted. The oil sands company, Brockton & Co had too many employees, and apparently fifteen years of being loyal to the company did not mean jack shit. He would be lying if he said he hadn't contemplated destroying his phone; to hell with 'don't shoot the messenger'.

"What are you doing?" Zach asked him. Jaxon did not respond; instead, he kept his gaze on the woman's purple lips. There was a lewd comment below them that Jaxon almost said aloud, however, he held his tongue, or at least he thought he did. He did not hold his tongue and instead had blurted it out rather loudly.

Zach did not react to Jaxon's words and instead regarded the wall as well. Finally tearing his eyes from the scene, Zach pulled on Jaxon's shoulder in an attempt to get his attention. "Jax... let me call someone. Should we try Carla again? Hey, where did your shoe go?" At the mention of Jaxon's fiancée—more like ex—he whirled around and nearly face planted as he took his other shoe off. He whipped it at his best friend. It was not an accurate throw, and Zach merely watched as it sailed into the air.

"Carla can go fuck a cactus!"

"Jax, watch out. Your shoe." Jaxon understood far too late to do anything about the shoe that was speeding toward his face. In any other circumstance, it would have been painful, but because of the alcohol gushing through his veins, he felt a dull thump and stared stupidly at the ground with his face slack.

Zach walked towards him with hands buried in his pockets and shoulders slumped. Both Zack and Jaxon were still in their wedding attire, a sad reminder of what was supposed to transpire that terrible day. His jacket had rain on it, and the chill had seeped into his bones, but he disregarded the feeling because it was better than dwelling on the overwhelming nothingness beginning to bloom in his head and heart.

Hands rested on Jaxon's shoulders, an amicable gesture, but he had never felt more alone in his life. "Brighter than my goddamn future," he muttered darkly at his best friend's white suit jacket.

"What?"

Jaxon shook his head and lost his balance as he attempted to go back inside the bar. He did not get far. Instead, Zach spun him around, stomach lurching and vision blurry all the while. Zach's arms embraced him, and it was then Jaxon realized he had begun to cry. No, he thought, it is the rain. Jaxon Dempsey does not cry. He nodded his head to nothing in particular before returning the embrace. It felt nice.