Could ya sleep?

saturday was a boring day. the baseball games were shitty, the weather was ok at best, and my pecs and abs were absolutely on fire from the previous night's and that day's workouts. so, by night time i'd had enough and called up some friends to go out. these people are ordinarily the club scene kids, longing to shake their asses on crowded dance floors, to shitty music, with watered-down drinks. saturday night, however, was "dive night."

i ventured over to meet the crew at kazmos (yes, the bar is about as retarded as the name), and after 15 long minutes, we bolted. place was dead and too much of a dive for even the most ardent dive-bar goers. we mosied (is that seriously a word?) over to hoffbrau, a little less dive-y place around the block. the music was okay, there were actually people in there, and the beer specials were utterly ridiculous.

roger (10-4 good buddy) and jess made their way to the pool table, where they met johnny, a 50-something greased up guido (package included black leather jacket, tight black t-shirt, gaudy silver cross pendant, and of course, paulie walnuts-like slicked-back greasy hair). johnny seemed friendly enough at first, in an irritating type of way. thankfully, i had some friends sitting in a bo0th, so i was able to split my time between playing pool next to johnny and drinking disgusting (but well priced) beer with some friends across the room.

the 2 friends in the booth (we'll call them jordo and wilson to protect their anonymity) slipped out and presumably hit the strip club. roger was so completely tanked by the time he arrived at the bar that i'm amazed he could stand up straight enough to play pool. jess walked him home just before he passed out. that left greg and me......and johhny.

greg and i took over the booth and the 2 pitchers of (free) beer left behind by our compatriots. the waitress, anne (a cutie little asian) joined us since the traffic was slow. johnny saw me, came over, and against all prayers, sat down right. next. to. me. i played nice, hoping he'd not say a word and just go somewhere else and bother other people--preferably the ginormous mountain of a man at the table across the aisle (with the fine little blondie). my wishes were not granted and johnny began to talk.

it is a widely known fact (i use the terms "widely" and "known" very liberally) that the usual suspects is one of my all time favorite films. and why not? what, with its twisty plot lines, amaaaaaazing acting (thank god for kevin spacey) and the dreamboat that is gabriel byrne, how could anyone not love this movie? anyway, it's one thing to love a movie. it's completely another to meet a character--especially one as, um, "odd" as benicio del toro's fred fenster. johnny, i'm convinced, was fenster.

after reminding us (literally) 32 times that he's 44 years old, and complimenting me for being "good people" (maybe it was paulie's cousin?), things turned a bit more, how shall i say, scary. looking straight at greg, johnny asked repeatedly, "if you killed a man, could ya sleep at night? could ya sleep? could ya sleep?" with johnny mere inches from his face, greg let out a wimpering "uhhhh, no. i don't think so." johnny continued to profess that if the money is right, he'd kill. but only for his brother. and only, gulp, for me. i thought surely he was joking. but after comparing me to john belushi (seriously, i couldn't even make that up), his attention turned back to killing people without remorse. i think i may have even heard him use the term "shank."

at any rate, i was at this point scared shitless. now, back in college i used to be a pretty good drinker. so when greg gave me the "chug whatever's left so we have an excuse to get you out from the booth and leave" look, i harkened back to my swilling days. we downed a full pitcher in mere seconds, told johnny guido we needed another drink from the bar, and sprinted out the front door and into oncoming traffic. it was the safest i'd felt all night. fugetaboudit.