Lovecraft's Bar & Grill - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The day they let me out of prison was the happiest day of my life. For 10 years, I waited for that day to come, trying to stay out of trouble, working out in the yard, getting a little forgiveness from the born-againers, and collecting tattoos. Mostly collecting tattoos. In a decade of prison life, I’d managed to cover my arms, back, chest, and neck with some real fine skin art, mostly having a dark nature. Pictures of wizards and demons were usually my favs. I also had a big ol’ Cthulhu on my back, smack between my shoulder blades. Baby when I flexed my muscles that old booger’d get all evil looking man. Pretty sweet. Naked nymphs and succubi adorned by arms, and Gandalf the Grey stood proudly on my chest, holding one of the palantiri.

Never mind the fact that I was in prison because of drugs. Mostly, pickup and delivery. I didn’t do the stuff myself, I saw what it did to people too often, and wanted to avoid that kind of hell if I could.

I picked up the habit of the cancer sticks in prison though. It seems inevitable that anyone setting foot in incarceration tries to commit suicide the slow way with these things. I was up to 3 packs a day shortly after leaving the Warren County prison, and of course, the first thing I did with my freedom was go down to the local convenience store and spend some of what little cash I had on a carton. The second thing I did was spend the rest of what they gave me upon my exit from prison at a used book store. I may be an ex-con but I do have some brains, and I read whatever I can get my hands on. The reading supply in prison was sparse at best, and I’ve been having a hankering for my old horror pals, Stephen King, Jack Ketchum and Edward Lee to name a few.

The next few weeks were spent in quiet bliss at an old friend’s trailer on the fringe of Warren County, chain smoking and reading a book a day. He was at work and I had the place to myself. But, after those quiet days my reading supply was dwindling, I was out of cigs, and I felt the itch to move on.

In order to do that I needed cash. I worked as a dishwasher at the local Red Lobster for a while, but that didn’t cut it. I got tired of standing in 3 inches of sewage that refused to go down the floor drain all night long. The frantic pace, especially on Friday and Saturday nights was also a bit too much. With the constant flow of dirty dishes, cups, and silverware, the only way I could keep ahead was by intentionally wiring myself on caffeine a half hour before work. That buzz would last me a good part of the night, enough to stay at least dead even with the rush of dishes.

I quit that job after about 6 months and worked for a year as a motorcycle repairman. This was where I made the most of my funds. It was fun to be working on bikes again, just tinkering with anything mechanical was a blast. I also brought in enough cash to be able to buy an occasional paperback (new even) from the neighborhood B&N. Read lots of horror again, stuff about atomic bombs, you know, typical light reading.

Then came the day it was time to leave. I’d managed over the year to save up around 6 g’s, enough to buy a used Harley, with money left over for a trip to anyplace but here. Little did I know when I set out, I was starting the weirdest chapter of my life.