Post by Shane Hunt on Mar 18, 2013 17:30:20 GMT -6
1st November 2012 - San Diego, California
" ... So yeah, I like Wolf Bombed the bastard to Hell and back...
This is my local, a down trodden bar in the back streets of San Diego. It may not look like much to you, but to me this place has become my second home. Since I left the wrestling scene, I've found myself here more often than my own house. The people who come here, they understand me. I mean, look at them all gathered around me. They love my old wrestling stories, especially the ones where I win championships. I love them as well, but at the same time I hate these memories of the good times. They remind me that I'm no longer that man, and I don't think I ever will be.
I lean forward in my chair, and reach for my pint glass. I pick it up and look inside... It's empty. I look around myself to see if anyone is going to the bar, but they've already moved on to their own tables. They've listened to my story, and are no longer interested in Shane Hunt. I now sit alone, mind full of memories I wish I never had, and with an empty glass. I let out a sigh, and begin to stand. It's not as easy as it seems, as I've been here all afternoon and consumed my fair share of alcohol. Finally, if a bit unsteady, I'm to my feet. I slowly and surely make my way to the bar, empty glass in hand. I put the glass on the bar as the barman comes over to serve me.
I slur out the words " Same again. ", and that's all I need to say. I'm here so often, that the bar staff all know what I drink. The barman takes my glass and holds it under the tap, pulling on the handle to pump out the beer. As I watch the glass fill, I lick my lips in anticipation. Finishing off the pint with a nice thick bubbly head, the barman hands me my pint. I don't have to pay right now, as I have a tab.
Now comes the walk back to the table, which is made all the more difficult now I'm carrying a a full glass of beer. I stare at the beer rather than what's in front of me. I care more about my drink than what or whoever is in front of me. I gradually make my way to my table, where I place my drink. Slumping down on my chair, I am still alone.
I spend the next five minutes in my own company, sipping at my pint and really enjoying it. As good as the alcohol may be, my mind is still wondering through the thoughts of past wrestling success. All of a sudden, the door to the bar swings open and a man in his late twenties rushes in. It's my brother John Hunt, decked out in a suit and tie. He looks around the room, and spots me. He hastily walking over to the table I'm at, but I have no interest in him.
" Shane! " Shouts John, as he taps me on the shoulder. I don't look up at him. I'm too ashamed of myself to look him in the eye. I stare at my pint, as John speaks on.
" Shane, you need to come home. "
I let out a sigh, and respond to him while still looking at my pint.
" Don't tell me what I need to do. I'll come home when I'm ready. "
John doesn't accept this response. He shouts " Come home! It's your son, Riley! "
I shrug my shoulders.
" Yeah, I saw him yesterday. I'll see him again tomorrow, if I sober up... " I say, in a lack luster fashion before reaching forward to pick up my pint. John throws out his hand, and blocks mine from my pint. At this point, my glare shifts toward my brother. I scowl at him, pissed off that he is halting my drinking just to talk about my son.
" What do you want, John? What amazing thing did my son do today, that I missed? Oh, and what were you doing with my wife again...? "
John's answer to these questions isn't one I was expecting.
" Shut up, Shane! Riley's hurt himself. He fell, and cut his head bad. Marie is waiting for an ambulance, so we have to get back quick. "
As shocking this is, for a couple of seconds I consider finishing my pint before I leave the bar. John has already started walking toward the door though, so I have to leave my pint and follow him. I give it one final stare, and regretfully leave it sitting on the table.
Before I walk out of the bar, I turn to the barman and address him concerning my tab.
" I'll pay for it when I come back. I shouldn't be long. My kid has hurt his head, so just got to pop to the hospital and get it stitched up. "
The barman acknowledges my explanation with a nod of the head. He knows I'll be back. I go back every day without fail.
I make my way toward the door, stumbling slightly as I go. Walking through the door and toward passenger side of John's car, I climb in and we drive off in the direction of my house.
" ... So yeah, I like Wolf Bombed the bastard to Hell and back...
This is my local, a down trodden bar in the back streets of San Diego. It may not look like much to you, but to me this place has become my second home. Since I left the wrestling scene, I've found myself here more often than my own house. The people who come here, they understand me. I mean, look at them all gathered around me. They love my old wrestling stories, especially the ones where I win championships. I love them as well, but at the same time I hate these memories of the good times. They remind me that I'm no longer that man, and I don't think I ever will be.
I lean forward in my chair, and reach for my pint glass. I pick it up and look inside... It's empty. I look around myself to see if anyone is going to the bar, but they've already moved on to their own tables. They've listened to my story, and are no longer interested in Shane Hunt. I now sit alone, mind full of memories I wish I never had, and with an empty glass. I let out a sigh, and begin to stand. It's not as easy as it seems, as I've been here all afternoon and consumed my fair share of alcohol. Finally, if a bit unsteady, I'm to my feet. I slowly and surely make my way to the bar, empty glass in hand. I put the glass on the bar as the barman comes over to serve me.
I slur out the words " Same again. ", and that's all I need to say. I'm here so often, that the bar staff all know what I drink. The barman takes my glass and holds it under the tap, pulling on the handle to pump out the beer. As I watch the glass fill, I lick my lips in anticipation. Finishing off the pint with a nice thick bubbly head, the barman hands me my pint. I don't have to pay right now, as I have a tab.
Now comes the walk back to the table, which is made all the more difficult now I'm carrying a a full glass of beer. I stare at the beer rather than what's in front of me. I care more about my drink than what or whoever is in front of me. I gradually make my way to my table, where I place my drink. Slumping down on my chair, I am still alone.
I spend the next five minutes in my own company, sipping at my pint and really enjoying it. As good as the alcohol may be, my mind is still wondering through the thoughts of past wrestling success. All of a sudden, the door to the bar swings open and a man in his late twenties rushes in. It's my brother John Hunt, decked out in a suit and tie. He looks around the room, and spots me. He hastily walking over to the table I'm at, but I have no interest in him.
" Shane! " Shouts John, as he taps me on the shoulder. I don't look up at him. I'm too ashamed of myself to look him in the eye. I stare at my pint, as John speaks on.
" Shane, you need to come home. "
I let out a sigh, and respond to him while still looking at my pint.
" Don't tell me what I need to do. I'll come home when I'm ready. "
John doesn't accept this response. He shouts " Come home! It's your son, Riley! "
I shrug my shoulders.
" Yeah, I saw him yesterday. I'll see him again tomorrow, if I sober up... " I say, in a lack luster fashion before reaching forward to pick up my pint. John throws out his hand, and blocks mine from my pint. At this point, my glare shifts toward my brother. I scowl at him, pissed off that he is halting my drinking just to talk about my son.
" What do you want, John? What amazing thing did my son do today, that I missed? Oh, and what were you doing with my wife again...? "
John's answer to these questions isn't one I was expecting.
" Shut up, Shane! Riley's hurt himself. He fell, and cut his head bad. Marie is waiting for an ambulance, so we have to get back quick. "
As shocking this is, for a couple of seconds I consider finishing my pint before I leave the bar. John has already started walking toward the door though, so I have to leave my pint and follow him. I give it one final stare, and regretfully leave it sitting on the table.
Before I walk out of the bar, I turn to the barman and address him concerning my tab.
" I'll pay for it when I come back. I shouldn't be long. My kid has hurt his head, so just got to pop to the hospital and get it stitched up. "
The barman acknowledges my explanation with a nod of the head. He knows I'll be back. I go back every day without fail.
I make my way toward the door, stumbling slightly as I go. Walking through the door and toward passenger side of John's car, I climb in and we drive off in the direction of my house.