Monday, November 08, 2004
Fergus Saved Clark and Belmont from the Demons
Fergus hung out with these "Satanic" dudes. They had pentagram marks on their wrists. They’d smoke crack and stand out on Belmont Avenue, preaching the good word of Satan to all freaks that passed.
Now, the waitress at Clarke’s didn’t like these guys. Especially Fergus. Fergus is pretty damn creepy. He has this glow in his eye like an evil toddler, a nose like a rabbit, lips thick like they’ve both been punched. He’s a big guy, too. A nightmare bunny. He’d creep about Clarke’s, never eating there, only waddling duck-toed from booth to booth, stopping at each one, gesturing to his wrist and spewing quick words, which almost always sprouted a pissed-off look on the face of whoever he was preaching to.
Becky, the waitress, hated him, how he bothered her customers.
“You gonna order or what?” she’d pinch one hand on her hip and roll her eyes.
“No, I’m good. Thanks anyway.” Fergus would smile a big, gooshy puppy grin and shuffle off to another booth.
Becky refilled the coffee cups of a young couple, professional types, who Becky, being tattooed and blue-haired, laughed at in her head for being so lame, but still treated nicely because they had the money to tip her well. These two were perfumed with stale smoke-air, which told her they’d probably just come from a bar.
“How is everything?” Becky asked them. The woman, a thin blonde in black nudged her man in the side.
“That creep over there.” He pointed across the restaurant to Fergus, a shadow attacking a table of teenage girls. “The big dude in black. He came over here and he told my wife all this shit about Satan. It freaked her out.” His eyes were pinched to two blue slits.
“Hold on. I’ll tell ‘im to leave.” Becky wedged her pierced lips into a stiff smile.
“Fergus.” She called as she neared the table of teenage girls. A troop of jailbait gothlets in fishnets and corsets and black lipstick. They were giggling at Fergus, one stroking the mark on his wrist.
“You’ve gotta leave if you won’t order anything. You’re scaring my customers.”
“Scared? Hehe! We’re not scared.” One of the teenage girls purred. Becky looked up and pretended not to hear.
“If you won’t go, I have to call the cops.” She said to Fergus.
“Aww, come on!” Fergus winked. Flecks of gold.
Becky sighed, her shoulders climbing and dropping and walked over to the phone behind the counter.
¶ 2:07 PM
Now, the waitress at Clarke’s didn’t like these guys. Especially Fergus. Fergus is pretty damn creepy. He has this glow in his eye like an evil toddler, a nose like a rabbit, lips thick like they’ve both been punched. He’s a big guy, too. A nightmare bunny. He’d creep about Clarke’s, never eating there, only waddling duck-toed from booth to booth, stopping at each one, gesturing to his wrist and spewing quick words, which almost always sprouted a pissed-off look on the face of whoever he was preaching to.
Becky, the waitress, hated him, how he bothered her customers.
“You gonna order or what?” she’d pinch one hand on her hip and roll her eyes.
“No, I’m good. Thanks anyway.” Fergus would smile a big, gooshy puppy grin and shuffle off to another booth.
Becky refilled the coffee cups of a young couple, professional types, who Becky, being tattooed and blue-haired, laughed at in her head for being so lame, but still treated nicely because they had the money to tip her well. These two were perfumed with stale smoke-air, which told her they’d probably just come from a bar.
“How is everything?” Becky asked them. The woman, a thin blonde in black nudged her man in the side.
“That creep over there.” He pointed across the restaurant to Fergus, a shadow attacking a table of teenage girls. “The big dude in black. He came over here and he told my wife all this shit about Satan. It freaked her out.” His eyes were pinched to two blue slits.
“Hold on. I’ll tell ‘im to leave.” Becky wedged her pierced lips into a stiff smile.
“Fergus.” She called as she neared the table of teenage girls. A troop of jailbait gothlets in fishnets and corsets and black lipstick. They were giggling at Fergus, one stroking the mark on his wrist.
“You’ve gotta leave if you won’t order anything. You’re scaring my customers.”
“Scared? Hehe! We’re not scared.” One of the teenage girls purred. Becky looked up and pretended not to hear.
“If you won’t go, I have to call the cops.” She said to Fergus.
“Aww, come on!” Fergus winked. Flecks of gold.
Becky sighed, her shoulders climbing and dropping and walked over to the phone behind the counter.
¶ 2:07 PM
