#hank henry Archives – PorchDrinking.com
“Here it is, kid. As promised, see?” He leveraged one foot into the air with tremendous effort and, twisting his whole body to generate the requisite torque, THUMPed it against the side of the stoic, wooden chest.
The chest did not deign to respond. It sat on the cold concrete, amidst the dank and the dust and the chittering bugs, and pretended we weren’t there.
Its black varnish shone with a malignant inner warmth separate from the light cast by the single exposed bulb dangling at the end of a long cord from the ceiling overhead, spinning slightly in a draft I couldn’t feel.
The chest had no clasp or keyhole that I could see, no adornment at all save for a plain, silver orb, like a globe bisected neatly from North to South pole, that bulged tumor-like from its front.
Lady at the bar told me she could hear the future. And when a lady at the bar tells you she can hear the future, you roll with it—that’s what I believe.
So I took a moment to consider the implications of such an ability, but I was a little tipsy and it was an uphill battle.
Happy day, children. The end is nigh. Part 4 is the long-awaited final chapter in the magical epic that has been, “Story Time With Coyote.” It started with a lost bet and ends…well you’ll have to read it to find out.
Still on the road, so this is gonna be another quickie. I’d apologize, but “you’re welcome” is probably more appropriate.
The plan this week was the same as the plan last week: namely, sitting in bars, dropping some eaves, hoping other people would basically write this thing for me. Except last week’s material came out of a clean and well-lit sports bar, which I figured was a fluke. The best stories, in my experience, usually come out of the shittiest bars. So for three nights I sat in dark rooms on wobbly stools, waiting, listening and taking copious notes. Being looked at weird for taking such copious notes. But I think I overshot my mark; these bars were too shitty. I didn’t hear the kinds of conversations I was hoping to hear, the kinds of conversations I can share with tender-hearted readers. I have a notebook full of stories about prostitutes.