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I had been drinking whiskey for
8 hours in my apartment and it was now about 9pm and I decided to go to a bar I’d only just moved to Newtown this would be my first night out I found the crappiest looking bar I could and went inside (nice looking bars always hassle you when your drunk: crappy bars appreciate any business they can get) I ordered 2 whiskeys and was feeling pretty good I had been listening to music and watching old m.m.a fights most of the day “What you celebrating pal?” said the bartender “I have an m.m.a fight in 2 weeks.” “Why are you drinking!” “It doesn’t matter. I will walk straight through him,” I said and shadow boxed for a few seconds “Good luck mate,” he said and I took a seat at the table by the door I could hear the bartender talking about me and laughing with another customer I finished my drinks and went to the bar the bartender had a grin on his face “Another drink champ?” “You want to be part of my training camp?” he didn’t respond I left the bar and got a cab to the brothel several girls introduced themselves I told the skinny young blonde with the small boobs and red lingerie I was a poet “You look more like a fighter,” she said “No I am really a poet.” “Sure. What do you write about: beating people up and sleeping with hookers.” “That all depends on the hooker,” I said and followed her tiny beautiful ass upstairs. —Brenton Dean Booth brentonbooth.weebly.com
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