Evening all. I'm new here, if my tag didn't give me away. I decided that while I had time waiting for approval, I'd write up a something in here.
Enjoy~. If you actually read through the whole thing, I'd love to hear what you think of it.
It was about half past five; I'd said I'd meet my friend Sammy down at the bar in downtown. I stepped outside and the harsh, gray New York rain comes down and hits my face. Looked like it'd be raining all day. As I close and lock the door, I see commuters wander past, coats pulled up, papers over their heads, anything to keep them that little bit more dry.
Rain? Never bothered me. I'd like how in the water came from the sky in unrelenting torrents. Somehow, I always found it purifying. Like all the gunk and grime of this city was getting pushed away by the fresh coat of water. Most of the dirt stayed, of course. You could flood the whole city with Simoniz, and the place would still come out looking drab. I considered hailing a cab, but I decided that I'd take a stroll in the rain instead. Not like I had the money to spare, anyhow. My fellow walkers shuffled quickly around my slower gait, their heads down, no doubt looking for warmth.
A paper boy stood vigilantly on the street side, soaked through to the skin with his coat wrapped around a stack of papers, now that's what I call work ethics. Murder, scandal and tragedy he cries out the headlines, but through the city’s veins the old core of the apple still beats, millions of people going about their business.
I turn a corner and I'm there, 'Smoky Joe’s' sits on the street. It's a classic bar, the front a standard concrete affair, with a big, old window in the front that gave a peek into a world of drinks, cigar smoke, and conversation.
The small brass bell on the door jingled as I entered. Inside, the bar was as warm as it was musky, with the smell of cigars lingering heavily in the air. The hat and coat I hung on the rack resembled the many damp hats and coats alongside them; inexpensive, but used often. I sat in a chair as I waited, listening to the clinking of glass, and the sordid conversation of the intoxicated. The room was warm, but the walls were thin, and I could hear the rain outside, pattering on the wet cement.
I call over to the Joe, the barman, waving to him in a relaxed manner. I've known him a good few years, even if he isn't the nicest man I've ever met. It wasn't like he needed to be; This wasn't an establishment for smiles and cheers, and us patrons that frequented it liked it that way. They were Cops, mostly. Joe silently nodded in my direction, and I ordered my usual; the house whiskey and water. I hunch forward on the barstool, taking in the quiet atmosphere around me. Much as I hated to admit it, this place was the closest thing I had to home. The bell jingles as a shorter man strolls in, hanging his coat and grey hat on the wall before lifting his soaked head up. He peers over at me and I see that it is my friend, Sammy, drying himself out by the doorway.
I called out to my old friend. We'd known each other for years. It was amazing the stuff we'd been through. Hell, it was amazing that we were both still alive enough to sit in this pleasant little bar. I stretched a bit, leaning back and enjoying the music while Sammy had a seat beside me. We may have both been alive, but Sammy looked less living than I did. Years can creep up slowly on a man if gone unchecked, and men in his occupation, or rather, our occupation, had little time to note the change. Wrinkles were already starting to form on his face, and Sammy's hairline was showing signs of receding. That's the life of a cop, I suppose.
I looked over at Sammy and mumbled a greeting. Sammy and I were great friends, but these days all we talked about was how of our friendship in days gone by. Life had gotten hard for cops like us. Members of the Old Guard. Relics of a bygone age, when honor had meant something to those who wore blue. Sammy may have looked fat then, but in his prime he was like a bear. I sighed. Those were the days.
We talked about all those things that we prided ourselves on in a time before we knew what pride even was. We talked about all those things that hurt at the time, but were faded and forgotten by time. We talked about that old tart Sammy used to hang around, we talked about that time I got into a fistfight with a private investigator. We even talked about Vicky, we were a bit silent after bringing that piece of work. I guess time heals some scars more slowly than others. We talked for what must have been hours. We'd of sworn we weren't hitting the whiskey too hard, but like always, we were both wasted at end of the night. Sammy managed to stumble himself into a cab, I took my coat and headed back onto the street.
It was still raining.