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| A hard life | Started by: Jazz_Devil on Jul 24, '08 17:57 |
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He sighed, dropped the cigarette to the ground and started making his way down the dark and murky streets of New Orleans. The summer heat was killing him. A singel drop of sweat had made its way down to the tip of his nose, hangning there in suspense, almost waiting for the right moment before it dropped and hit the concrete below. He laughed. It was so silent. He thought he almost could hear the splash when it hit. He was getting soaked now, watermarks made by sweat was visible all over the back of his white shirt. He stopped and removed his hat, layed it above the blazer hangning over his right arm and dryed some sweat of his forehead. This heat. This damned heat. A small local cafe was keeping open and he sat down and ordered a cup of green tea. He was in dispear. At a loss. He had arrived at the New York harbour a couple a weeks ago. The promised land. This was where he was going to make his fortune. How wrong he had been. A combination of hard times and a language barrier had forced him to travel from city to city looking for work. Sometimes by buss, sometimes he had walked. Besides the worn out shoes, the dirt on his clothes and the stank of sweat that he constantly was trying to hide, it hadn't been to bad. He rather enjoyed sleeping under the stars, but it was taking its toll. New Orleans had been a disepointment. Nothing. Absolutly nothing. Chills ran down his spine. He had panicked to night and knocked over a liquer store. The first act of violence or crime he had ever commited in his 24 year long life. He wasn't sure wether or not the cops were after him, but if this continued on he knew he would be no better then a mere thug, roaming the streets and praying on the weak and innocent of this society. Still. It would be better then going poor. The tea arrived and he thanked the old lady with his best smile, promising her that he would pay her later, but he knew he wouldn't. He would get up and run, run like he had never done before since his arrival, and then perhaps he would find himself in yet another city. Walking door to door begging for work. He sipped the tea and lighted another cigarette, his eyes gaze to the sky and he looked upon the shining stars, wondering what might be out there and sending a silent prayer that oppertunity would knock on his door |
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A tall, finely dressed man entered the shoppe and sat down on a barstool at the counter. When the waitress approached him, her tired young face brightened. This one looked like he might be a good tipper. "What can I get for you sir?" She smiled, flashing her dimples and pearly white teeth. She was a pretty thing and this fact wasn't wasted on Bogart. He had an eye for the finer things in life. "Just coffee. Black. Thank you." Bogie watched as she poured his coffee and sat it on the counter in front of him. "Anything else, sir?" Her tone was innocent, nothing suggestive, so Bogie just smiled, said thank you and laid a 20 spot down on the counter. His eyes wandered around the cafe and came to rest on what appeared to be a down and out fellow in the booth by the door. Picking up his coffee, Bogie strolled over to the young man's booth and sat down. "If you don't mind me saying so, buddy, you look like you could use a friend tonight," Bogie said, taking a sip of the dar chicory blended coffee New Orleans is famous for. "I'm doing okay," the man replied. "Well, you don't look okay. You look like a broke bum. Your clothes are dirty and you could use a shave." Bogie took another sip then continued speaking. "You new around here? Got any family?" The young man looked down at his tea and shook his head no. "But I got my pride Mister. You don't got no right to be calling me a dirty bum." Bogie chuckled. He liked this young man's spunk. "No harm meant, son." Bogie took a calling card from his inside pocket and flipped it onto the table in front of the man. "I'm just passing through New Orleans on business. I'm from New York. If you want a leg-up on life and happen to make your way to the Big Apple, feel free to look me up. The man I work for is an upright kinda guy and I'll be happy to put in a good word for you. Son, let me give you a little advice. It behooves a man to recognize opportunity when he sees it. A man has to make his own destiny. He can't afford sit around in a cafe just wishing." Bogie stood up, dropped $500 on the table in front of the young man. "That's enough for a good drunk or a plane ticket to New York. You decide." Bogie tipped the brim of his fedora. "Here's looking at you, kid." The young man watched as Bogie left the cafe and faded into the darkness. His glaze went back to the $500 laying on the table... |
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| Reply by: Bogart at Jul 25, '08 12:46 | |
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I eased into the little joint with nothing on my ming but the hustle. I can hardly think of nothing else these days, with everybody at each others throat you have to go and get your own. The day had been good to my pockets and I had alittle money to throw, why not at a bar. Sippin on some wine I couldn't help but notice this shaggy looking fellow sitting with an obviously connected man. The man placed a handful of bills on the table and spoke a few words and was on his way. By the look of the man sitting down, his hopes were lifted. I never did find out what they were speaking about, hell after all those drinks I don't even remember how I got home. 20 man die and 40 more are recruited the life of the mafia."Cheers to the goodlife" |
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| Reply by: Self-Made at Jul 26, '08 05:16 | |
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