Ch. 3 Painless Sky

Stanley was having a good night. The weekend had brought in several conventions; one had something to do with cowboys. The street and casinos were full of people, including rich dime store cowboys. The pickings were plentiful and easy. He’d made sixty bucks, had a Big Mac and fries, received a pair of gloves, and a wool stocking cap. Now it was time to celebrate a good night’s work.
He made sure not to return to the store where he had lost his twenty earlier in the night and bought a fifth of cheap whiskey. Any more than that put a target on his back. He’d seen people killed for a bottle of tequila. He slipped the bottle inside his jacket and returned to the street.
Stanley headed toward a spot he new, smack in the middle of downtown. He knew where there was a ledge on an old building that overlooked downtown. He was perfectly hidden, but could easily watch people. He’d love to sit and have a drink with someone, but that would require him sharing his hot commodity. Stanley had no intention of squandering his hard work.
After scrambling up to his hide away Stanley opened his bottle and took the first burning pull; it made him feel warm though, his favorite thing about whiskey in the winter. Stanley intently watched the activity below.
There were women oblivious to the frigid weather in short skirts, tight jeans and low cut blouses, trolling for men, stumbling in and out of the bars and casinos. Chasing the women were groups of men laughing, shouting and putting on a show of their bravado. Fights broke out, people fell down, taxis swooped through traffic, cops cuffed shirtless men, and Stanley absorbed his whiskey, and had a good time watching it all unfold.
Half way through the fifth Stanley was feeling so good he decided to come down from his perch and interact with the people he had been surveying for over an hour.
First he bummed a cigarette off a big burley guy. He was wearing short sleeves so everyone could see the tattoos up and down both arms. The guy was too old to be out this time of night, looking for a piece of ass; Stanley assumed he’d just gotten of work. He’d been in the military. Stanley had been in the army for eight months before being discharged. They shared old stories of being in the service until the pack of cigarettes was gone. Stanley thanked the man, and feeling even better than before, took a pull and moved on. It was always nice to have a real conversation.
Feeling good about life Stanley continued on, his confidence rising. He strolled down the street and began to think about the future. Tomorrow he’d get a job, maybe something at one of the warehouses. When he got his first check he’d get a place to stay. Probably a cheap hotel room at first, but within a couple months he’s be able to rent a place. He’d move up, change jobs when he became qualified. He bet he could even get him a nice wife……..
As the whiskey bottle emptied Stanley’s mood changed. Gone were the positive thoughts and warm inner glow. His thoughts shifted from where he wanted to go to where he had been. His mind ultimately drifted down the wide wandering roads, narrow fast paths and dangerous climbs and falls of his life.
What the hell made him think he was really capable of getting a job? This life had pushed and tormented him for as long as he could remember. Everything he had embedded in his being as right and joyful had been ripped from his soul and drowned in a filthy gutter.
Stanley no longer took glances from stranger on the street as invitations for conversation, but instead as glares of hate and loathing, and he cursed them.
He cursed the world and its creator. He cursed his unborn children and unfound wife. He cursed the sky for never knowing pain, and the trees for never growing tired. Mostly, he cursed himself.
By now the bottle was empty, and Stanley was too drunk. It was time to sleep.
He stumbled and worked his way beyond the neon lights, beyond the eyes of the world. He rested and fought off the effects of the whiskey that wanted him so badly to stop and sleep. Finally he arrived at his destination, a quiet little stretch of river just inside the industrial district. He could faintly hear voices in the distance, unaware that some of them might be destined for him. As the first twinkles of light sparkled in the far eastern sky Stanley Patterson faded into a drunken sleep.