Working overtime

I'm working a longer shift tomorrow and you'll probably be hit with a limerick/poem or even a comic tomorrow, so I'm gonna try and write a short for you today to tide you over.

I'm not gonna lie, I feel kind of bad for Bob....


The Life and Times of Bob Pritchard

Bob Pritchard stared blankly the sweat dripping down his brow, the stench of petrol invading every fiber of his cloths. The 42 year old gas station attendant watched the numbers tick by on the pump as if they were counting away his life. This was his life.

Bob was single and lived on his own in a tiny apartment. It was poorly lit and smelled of wet dust. There was a water leak in the corner of the room, and the window didn't fit it's slot on the wall. A tiny crack on the bottom left of the frame didn't quiet touch the brick wall, letting cold air in to constantly cool the place. Bob had a very large hydro bill.

This particular night Bob was feeling lonely. All his friends had moved out of the city and had successful jobs and families. Bob, on the other hand, worked as a pump jockey, and sometimes an overnight coffee shop attendant. Seeing as tonight was Bob's night off he decided to go out.

He drove a ways out to small dive strip club where they served $2 bottles of Bub; some kind of Budweiser rip off. If was only place he could afford to drink on his two salaries. It was better than the stale tap water in his apartment which, despite the building being cold, the water was never colder than room temperature. He parked his Pinto hatchback behind the club, he didn't want anyone he knew to see him parked here. He pulled the hood of his hoodie tightly around his face and sprinted to the door.

The smell of smoke and cheap perfume greeted him. He licked his lips and wished he had a cigarette. He hadn't smoked in weeks, not because he was quitting, but because he couldn't afford a new pack of smokes. Quickly Bob walked to the counter, ordered a Bub, left no tip, and sat down at perverts row.

The girl on stage danced seductively, her ebony skin glittering in the dimly black-lit club. Bob sucked back his beer and relaxed in his chair. A couple of college kids were sitting a few chairs away, they hooted and hollered at the girl and she stripped to the thumping trance beats. Bob just enjoyed the show.

A few beers later, and a few trips to the washroom later, Bob decided to buy himself a lap dance. He approached the asian stripper who just got off stage.

"Can I get a dance?"

"Sure honey, just gimme a sec." She walked backstage. He waited at the doorway.

She returned a half-hour later and was surprised to see him standing there. "Hey, want that dance now?"

"Yeah."

"Ok hun. Let's go." She lead him by the arm to a darkened corner of the club. Behind tall walls and in on uncomfortable couches Bob got his lap dance. He tried to press her for more but she told him "I only dance." He muttered to himself paid the girl, had one more Bub, and left.

As Bob got home he lay down on his bed and stared at the peeling wallpaper of his apartment.

"Is there more than this?" he thought. "Is this all my life is?" Bob rolled over and opened the bottle of sleeping pills he had gotten from a sketchy walk-in clinic. He poured the contents into his hand and stared at them.

He could end it all right here. He could stop the cycle.

He stared at his hand. It trembled as he put the first pill to his lips.

He took one and put the rest back into the bottle.