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“Thanks,” he nods. His phone vibrates against the slick wood of the bar-top catching his attention, “Sorry just a sec.”
“No problem,” I nod, pushing off the bar-top and circling back down the length of the bar to check on the few guests still lingering.
Two of the couples ask to check out, so I run their cards and close out their tabs while my eyes still seem to be stuck on Zeke like super glue. He’s on the phone with Travis, who is no doubt being a giant pain in the dick about this entire project. He’s so protective of Spencer, and it’s sweet really, but sometimes it makes you want to gag.
I get it though, I guess. There was a drive by shooting recently and it scared the hell out of us all. The only thing we were able to find out for sure, was that the now deceased victim was an ex-Reaper and we have no idea what he was doing around here. I guess one can’t be too careful when living a life of crime, whether you’re eyeballs deep in it, or tiptoeing around the shallow end.
Thanking my customers, I slide them their receipts, pour my last customer another whiskey neat, and I make my way back down to Zeke just as he’s hanging up the phone.
“Everything ok?”
“Yeah, of course. Work shit.”
“Right,” I nod. “You tattoo though too right, I mean how do you still have time to run the shop with all the time you spend with, well, you know?”
“I mean, I don’t sleep much.”
“Same. I mean not about the other stuff, just the not sleeping stuff. My brain just never shuts down. It’s always going, and… it makes it hard to sleep. So much noise all the time. Sometimes I can sketch something or paint and get whatever is floating around up there out of my system long enough to really rest, but most of the time even when I’m sleeping I’m just, yeah.”
Good grief, what's with the word vomit tonight?
Zeke chuckles and shakes his head, “Yeah. So you have any ink?”
“Nope,” I shrug, sucking in a breath, “I may love art but my body’s a blank canvas.”
“Really? I mean I could… hook you up if you were looking to get some work done. In case you didn’t know I have quite the reputation.”
“I mean, I’m more of a piercing guy,” I grin as I pull my tongue ring between my teeth.
“I do those too,” Zeke winks as he takes a drink of his beer, and fuck if the entire interaction doesn’t go right to my dick.
He’s flirting right? That’s definitely flirting. Nope, I’m overthinking it. My brain is making up things that aren’t really there.
“Sweet, I had a couple more I was thinking about getting so maybe I’ll come by the shop sometime?”
“Yeah, definitely,” he grins as he grabs a pen from the lone cup sitting on the inside of the bar. Reaching forward, he grabs my arm and lays it flat against the bar-top as I eye him cautiously.
Placing the pen between his lips, he pulls the cap off with his teeth as he pushes my sleeve up. “I get kinda busy, so just give me a call first. I’ll totally make the time though, just a heads up is all,” he starts as he begins writing a phone number on my forearm. “Maybe you wanna check out some of my art too? You show me yours I’ll show you mine?”
Gulping, I blink my eyes a few times before I choke out a response, “Y-yeah. Of course man.”
“Alright,” he caps the pen and drops a twenty dollar bill on the bar. “I hope to hear from you.”
Pushing up from the stool, “Good night, Cole,” he says as he turns and heads out into the cold winter night. All the while I stare down at my forearm, tracing the lines with my fingertips, drowning in the absence of his skin on mine.
555-2549 - Z ;)
I am fucked.
Music pumps loudly through the speakers of my studio apartment as I take one last puff of the joint, setting the roach in an ashtray on the table. As I tie a black bandana around my mouth and nose, I stride back over to my supplies. This mural idea has been spinning through my head for a while now, and I’m finally ready to nail down the backdrop. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve dabbled in street art, but the blank brick wall inside of my apartment has been calling to me for a while now.
My idea is probably a little crazy. Okay, it’s definitely a little crazy.
Alright, a lot crazy.
I just have this feeling deep in my soul that I can’t really explain, and it defies all logic and reality. But the writing is already on the wall, so why not bring it to life? On my actual wall? No one will really know either, it’s not like I bring anyone here. It can just be for me. For now.
Uncapping a can of spray paint, I stand up on the thick, cream colored drop cloth, shake the can and press down on the tip. Paint particles launch through the air, from the pressurized can, leaving behind the most magnificent shades of swirls and lines on the wall. With sweeping motions, I create the background, setting the scene for the bigger picture. A single can, clutched in my fingertips, acting as both the paintbrush and the paint. Gliding back and forth, layering certain sections, I create depth to the scene.
