Morning, Sunshine!

At three A.M Thursday morning, in Suite 411, Wendell grins from ear to ear on his couch in total self-adoration. Beaming and smiling, he feels pretty damn good about himself. His stories at the bar that night, always bigger and better or sadder and sorrier than anyone else’s were particularly engaging.

What a charmer, he thinks to himself. What a charmer!

His local just a few short blocks up the drive, he’d forgone the cab in favour of staggering home, stopping only to urinate on a newspaper box. Amused by his own defiance, Wendell declared, “I am not an animal!” after the man who sleeps every night in the bakery’s doorway dared curse something unintelligible his way. Once back in the apartment building, he pounded and kicked at his door when the lock wouldn’t give before finally realizing he had still one more floor to go. He stumbled up the stairs as quickly as he could, snickering loudly, immersed in his own genius mind, grabbed a beer from the fridge, slumped down on the couch in the dark, and spilled all over himself with his first enthusiastic chug. It didn’t matter, though. Wendell raised the bottle for a self-congratulatory toast and began to collect his thoughts from the last few hours he’d spent at the bar.

Ah yes, they really like him there. He knows this well enough to go back at least a couple nights a week, spend the evening, watch the game, listen to the band, engage in thrilling conversations with everyone around him. Whether they expect it or not does not daunt Wendell, as he knows after a few minutes they will be thoroughly entertained by his wit, his passion, his determination to make them laugh or cry or reflect upon their own lives, none of which, of course, would be more interesting than his own. Oh yes, each time he goes he makes a new fan. Tonight he had teased Angie each time she passed by, each time she took his order, each time she refilled his pitcher and the pitchers he bought around him. When she scuffed at his remarks Wendell playfully referred to her as his ‘muse for the night,’ providing him with ample material with her new hairstyle, her ex-boyfriend and the private conversations he’d overheard her having with the other bartenders. A willing victim, as he’s sure Angie’s also his greatest fan. Tonight was especially special. Tonight was the first night of hopefully many to come where he took to the small stage and improvised a bit of stand-up in between the band’s sets. Nobody had asked him to, but he’d taken it upon himself to entertain.

“Brilliant!” Wendell’s inebriated voice fills the room. “Quite brilliant, charmer.”

He hears a cough, suddenly, loud and crisp, as if right behind him. He smells cigarette smoke, as if someone else in the room was smoking. Barely able to even raise his head, he sees he’d left the balcony open, forces himself up and trips through the doorway. There in front of him stands a man in a black leather jacket.

It takes Wendell a moment or two to register the man who smokes on his balcony just a few feet in front of him. He is stocky, a tad taller than he, perhaps a few years older. The man’s face is hidden in the shadows, and when Wendell’s vision is once again focused he stretches out his right arm and points at the man with the same hand that holds his bottle of beer.

“Who da fuck are you?” Wendell blurts out in a language only another drunk would understand. With his other arm he holds onto the outside wall of his bedroom for balance.

The man restrains his voice, speaking quietly and with ease. “I followed you from the bar.” He exhales, adding, “I’m a fan.”

As he says this he smiles but Wendell can spot condescension through any cloud of smoke. Trying to understand, he takes a swig of beer and even a few seconds to hang over the balcony to look down. His vision is still blurry as he barely can see the ground. He scratches his head and finally turns back to the man.

“I climbed.”

The man steps closer, slowly.

“Climbed? But it’s—“

“Four stories.” He grins. “I’m good.”

Directly in front of him now, Wendell finally recognizes the man. He is the lonely bloke who sat at the far end of the bar, keeping to himself and watching quietly from afar. At one point Wendell saw him laugh, but perhaps he was just coughing, now he wonders as sometimes it’s tough to tell. This man stayed right up to the end, until it was just the two of them and the staff left behind. It was Wendell, though, who stayed last, right up until Angie finally kicked him out by, jokingly of course, threatening to call her motorcycle friends.

And now on Wendell’s balcony the man smiles and beams proudly upon being recognized and Wendell notices the right fist and just barely before it makes contact with his face as the man decks him with such enthusiasm Wendell’s mouth and nose make three distinct crackling sounds and Wendell’s beer goes flying over the edge and shatters as it smashes on the ground and Wendell himself slides to the balcony’s damp astroturf surface where he will wake up a few hours later, wet and cold, dazed and bloodied.

The man takes a long final drag of his cigarette before tossing it over the edge and laughs to himself as he rubs his hands together three times and quietly says, “Job well done.”

He continues laughing as he steps over Wendell into the living room where he stands and pisses in one of Wendell’s fake plants. The man’s name is Todd and it is not usually his style to follow people home, in fact, tonight was a first, but this guy here, the guy laying unconscious on his balcony, the guy who spent all night being obnoxious, harassing and irritating everyone at the bar, including the staff and especially that cute waitress, annoyed him so much that he had no other choice but to stay behind a few hours just to give the guy a real story to tell.

If he even remembers it.

Still laughing, Todd makes himself a sandwich in Wendell’s kitchen with leftover turkey and whatever else he can find in the fridge. He packs it to go with some fruit and grabs a few soft drinks for lunch later that day. For his walk home, he grabs a couple beers and toasts Wendell as he lets himself out.


Ldm