Post by veronicaaaahhhh on Oct 8, 2007 6:33:15 GMT -5
Take Everything
Standing on his moccasins, Wayne felt little shards of dirt seeping beneath and between his toes. The sun stood high above him; lifting the cup of coffee, he watched in plain view as the lashes of heat faded into the day. Wayne brought the cup before him; he only took his coffee one way; with lots of cream and enough sugar to make a spoon stand.
Wayne looked down upon the cup and saw a trace of his reflection floating above the murky brown liquid. Wayne blew into the glass and took a sip. It was a hot say in Tijuana and Wayne McGurk wanted coffee; hot coffee, cheap coffee- the kind that came from a Styrofoam 7-11 cup. No Starbucks; man wasn’t in the mood to shell out an extra few bucks for comfortable space.
Wayne took a seat on the steps that led to his lair; three stories above where he sat, actually. Wayne graced his cup on the step and watched as life drifted before him; cars driving up and down opposite sides of the road, street vendors looking to make a quick sale, and children running down the street; all this and the smell of hot
Castañas.
Wayne eased his arm on the step and leaned back. Wayne reached into his breast pocket for his pack of Camel’s, tapped the bottom of the pack with his fingers, placed a stick between his lips, threw the pack on the steps, and lit the cigarette.
cigarillos.
dessert.
Wayne brought the cigarette to his lips and took a quick puff. Wayne left the cigarette between his lips, as he lurched over to his side and withdrew a rolled magazine from his back pocket; The Pro Wrestling Insider, vol.24, issue.12, December 2000. The magazine came out on September of that year, a good three months before it’s intended release; it was pretty much like that with almost every pro wrestling-based magazine.
Wayne had dug the magazine from storage before they moved. Six, seven years passed since the issue came out, and already it looked ancient. This was back when they were printed in black and white, leaving only the cover and the pictorials colored. Wayne unrolled the magazine and opened it; the pages yellowed with age.
Wayne blew out a cloud of smoke and placed the cigarette down on the edge of the step as he reached for the coffee and took a sip.
Wayne flipped through the pages of the magazine, and God damn there it was; right in the center of the pictorial section. Now, he had the magazine months before he met Vanessa, but the first time he ever laid his eyes on her was between the pages of the magazine he held on this afternoon.
Wayne sat there and looked at the picture; man, there was nothing else he wanted to see but that…
ing stung; and despite that, he couldn’t look away… Reckoned maybe it was that bittersweet feeling of pain, jealousy, and love. That kind of feeling he didn’t want to feel, but had to.
Wayne eased the cup back on the step and took another puff off the cigarette; lips drawing hard on the filter. Looking down at the picture, Wayne conjured taking the cigarette and stubbing it out on the guy’s face. Wayne exhaled smoke, and tipped the ashes onto the sidewalk.
This was who the guy was then, and who he was; a tag team partner and a lot more than that. Then and now, this was who he was to Wayne; an asshole.
His name was Sean Romano; a scrawny Canadian luchador some seven years ago, a ‘roided kickboxer today- largely due to his inability to execute the moves he once could.
Wayne looked at the picture… Romano standing there, snug, with Vanessa’s leg eased against him; hand full of ass.
Thinking about it, after all this time, Wayne realized why Vanessa’s family never cared for him; that damn Sean Romano. They liked him for three simple reasons:
First, he too, like Vanessa, came from Franco-Italian descent.
Second, he too, like Vanessa, was a Québécois.
Third, he drank absinthe; like a fish, supposedly.
I won the girl…
He murmured.
Wayne rolled the magazine and leaned forward; he took a sip of coffee and reached for the smoke. He held it between his index and middle finger as he brought it to his lips. Wayne closed his eyes, opened his lips, and let the cigarillo through. Wayne drew on the filter, tiled is head, and pulled the cigarette away. Wayne brought the rolled magazine before him, rolled his lips, and blew a cloud of smoke, and opened his eyes and watched as a perfect ring of smoke glided through the magazine.
Wayne saw a taxi coming and stood; rolled magazine cupped in one hand, cup of coffee on the other.
He was here.
Wayne drew the magazine to his back pocket as the taxi stopped before him. Wayne tugged his shirt and fanned himself; the weather was already hot enough- and he made iting made it worse with the coffee.
Wayne watched him on the outside; looking into the tinted-windows of the taxi.
Kurt was paying the driver.
Wayne paced a couple steps back as Kurt opened the door and let himself out. Wayne came forward and took Kurt’s backpack from the backseat, before shutting the door.
Kurt took his backpack from Wayne, and the both of them stood there, on the sidewalk; the cab driving away.
Wayne pulled the cigarette away from his lips.
It’s been awhile, man.
Yeah...
How’re you feeling?
Sober; thanks for asking.
They stood there and laughed.
Wayne dipped the cigarette into the coffee and dug his free-hand into his pocket.
***
So, what’s the plan boss?
You and me, on Loaded-
Loaded?
Kurt cut him.
That’s the name of the new show?
Yeah. Alright, this week you’ve got a match against EBR; then next, you and me, on Loaded, are gonna go for the Tag Team Heritage Cup.
First time ever tag team.
Yeah…
We’re gonna smoke them, you know?
I do.
So, that’s why you booked us in the match?
No, I reckon we can add a little more gold under our belts. I thought about it like this, Thunder’s the International Champion, and he’s got a guaranteed title shot against Obo; he wins that, he’ll be both International and World Heavyweight Champion.
Now, come Scars & Stripes, the Tag Team Heritage Cup is going to be unified with the Tag titles; pretty much a winner takes all sort of stipulation.
We win at Loaded, we’re gonna be the last holders of the Tag Team Heritage Cup; we win at Scars & Stripes, we’re gonna be tag team champions.
If Thunder can hold onto the International Championship by Scars & Stripes, pull off a victory, while you and I walk out with the tag team titles, we’re gonna be back where we were nine months ago.
You’ve been really thinking about all this have you?
I’ve got more time now; what else am I to do?
***
Something I’ve always wanted to ask.
Shoot.
You and Vanessa, you’re both so close; I mean, how do you two make it work?
I don’t know; just does I reckon.
Ied things up back there, didn’t I?
**** happens, man. You we’re bound to crash sooner or later, I’m just glad it’s all done.
For now, doesn’t mean I can’t make a mistake.
Mistakes happen; if I’m lucky, I’ll still be making mistakes... There's no such thing as regret when you can learn.
I’m trying, though I didn’t see the need for you to hide the booze.
I didn’t want to encourage you.
Found it anyway…
Mistakes happen.
Standing on his moccasins, Wayne felt little shards of dirt seeping beneath and between his toes. The sun stood high above him; lifting the cup of coffee, he watched in plain view as the lashes of heat faded into the day. Wayne brought the cup before him; he only took his coffee one way; with lots of cream and enough sugar to make a spoon stand.
Wayne looked down upon the cup and saw a trace of his reflection floating above the murky brown liquid. Wayne blew into the glass and took a sip. It was a hot say in Tijuana and Wayne McGurk wanted coffee; hot coffee, cheap coffee- the kind that came from a Styrofoam 7-11 cup. No Starbucks; man wasn’t in the mood to shell out an extra few bucks for comfortable space.
Wayne took a seat on the steps that led to his lair; three stories above where he sat, actually. Wayne graced his cup on the step and watched as life drifted before him; cars driving up and down opposite sides of the road, street vendors looking to make a quick sale, and children running down the street; all this and the smell of hot
Castañas.
Wayne eased his arm on the step and leaned back. Wayne reached into his breast pocket for his pack of Camel’s, tapped the bottom of the pack with his fingers, placed a stick between his lips, threw the pack on the steps, and lit the cigarette.
cigarillos. dessert.Wayne brought the cigarette to his lips and took a quick puff. Wayne left the cigarette between his lips, as he lurched over to his side and withdrew a rolled magazine from his back pocket; The Pro Wrestling Insider, vol.24, issue.12, December 2000. The magazine came out on September of that year, a good three months before it’s intended release; it was pretty much like that with almost every pro wrestling-based magazine.
Wayne had dug the magazine from storage before they moved. Six, seven years passed since the issue came out, and already it looked ancient. This was back when they were printed in black and white, leaving only the cover and the pictorials colored. Wayne unrolled the magazine and opened it; the pages yellowed with age.
Wayne blew out a cloud of smoke and placed the cigarette down on the edge of the step as he reached for the coffee and took a sip.
Wayne flipped through the pages of the magazine, and God damn there it was; right in the center of the pictorial section. Now, he had the magazine months before he met Vanessa, but the first time he ever laid his eyes on her was between the pages of the magazine he held on this afternoon.
Wayne sat there and looked at the picture; man, there was nothing else he wanted to see but that…
ing stung; and despite that, he couldn’t look away… Reckoned maybe it was that bittersweet feeling of pain, jealousy, and love. That kind of feeling he didn’t want to feel, but had to.Wayne eased the cup back on the step and took another puff off the cigarette; lips drawing hard on the filter. Looking down at the picture, Wayne conjured taking the cigarette and stubbing it out on the guy’s face. Wayne exhaled smoke, and tipped the ashes onto the sidewalk.
This was who the guy was then, and who he was; a tag team partner and a lot more than that. Then and now, this was who he was to Wayne; an asshole.
His name was Sean Romano; a scrawny Canadian luchador some seven years ago, a ‘roided kickboxer today- largely due to his inability to execute the moves he once could.
Wayne looked at the picture… Romano standing there, snug, with Vanessa’s leg eased against him; hand full of ass.
Thinking about it, after all this time, Wayne realized why Vanessa’s family never cared for him; that damn Sean Romano. They liked him for three simple reasons:
First, he too, like Vanessa, came from Franco-Italian descent.
Second, he too, like Vanessa, was a Québécois.
Third, he drank absinthe; like a fish, supposedly.
I won the girl…
He murmured.
Wayne rolled the magazine and leaned forward; he took a sip of coffee and reached for the smoke. He held it between his index and middle finger as he brought it to his lips. Wayne closed his eyes, opened his lips, and let the cigarillo through. Wayne drew on the filter, tiled is head, and pulled the cigarette away. Wayne brought the rolled magazine before him, rolled his lips, and blew a cloud of smoke, and opened his eyes and watched as a perfect ring of smoke glided through the magazine.
Wayne saw a taxi coming and stood; rolled magazine cupped in one hand, cup of coffee on the other.
He was here.
Wayne drew the magazine to his back pocket as the taxi stopped before him. Wayne tugged his shirt and fanned himself; the weather was already hot enough- and he made it
ing made it worse with the coffee. Wayne watched him on the outside; looking into the tinted-windows of the taxi.
Kurt was paying the driver.
Wayne paced a couple steps back as Kurt opened the door and let himself out. Wayne came forward and took Kurt’s backpack from the backseat, before shutting the door.
Kurt took his backpack from Wayne, and the both of them stood there, on the sidewalk; the cab driving away.
Wayne pulled the cigarette away from his lips.
It’s been awhile, man.
Yeah...
How’re you feeling?
Sober; thanks for asking.
They stood there and laughed.
Wayne dipped the cigarette into the coffee and dug his free-hand into his pocket.
***
So, what’s the plan boss?
You and me, on Loaded-
Loaded?
Kurt cut him.
That’s the name of the new show?
Yeah. Alright, this week you’ve got a match against EBR; then next, you and me, on Loaded, are gonna go for the Tag Team Heritage Cup.
First time ever tag team.
Yeah…
We’re gonna smoke them, you know?
I do.
So, that’s why you booked us in the match?
No, I reckon we can add a little more gold under our belts. I thought about it like this, Thunder’s the International Champion, and he’s got a guaranteed title shot against Obo; he wins that, he’ll be both International and World Heavyweight Champion.
Now, come Scars & Stripes, the Tag Team Heritage Cup is going to be unified with the Tag titles; pretty much a winner takes all sort of stipulation.
We win at Loaded, we’re gonna be the last holders of the Tag Team Heritage Cup; we win at Scars & Stripes, we’re gonna be tag team champions.
If Thunder can hold onto the International Championship by Scars & Stripes, pull off a victory, while you and I walk out with the tag team titles, we’re gonna be back where we were nine months ago.
You’ve been really thinking about all this have you?
I’ve got more time now; what else am I to do?
***
Something I’ve always wanted to ask.
Shoot.
You and Vanessa, you’re both so close; I mean, how do you two make it work?
I don’t know; just does I reckon.
I
ed things up back there, didn’t I?**** happens, man. You we’re bound to crash sooner or later, I’m just glad it’s all done.
For now, doesn’t mean I can’t make a mistake.
Mistakes happen; if I’m lucky, I’ll still be making mistakes... There's no such thing as regret when you can learn.
I’m trying, though I didn’t see the need for you to hide the booze.
I didn’t want to encourage you.
Found it anyway…
Mistakes happen.
