The Sickboy Chronicles – A Lost Art

Sickboy, Sevrin, and Bobby D are lined up at the bar. It’s Murderers’ Row with a shared passion for inebriation that far outweighs their scant repository of common sense. Sevrin and Bobby D are veterans of the industry. Sevrin has been drawing drafts and managing a sports bar for years. Bobby D pours them tough at a popular dance club in midtown. Sickboy is just a desk jockey who is a lot less cool than the company he keeps. These characters are the ruling triumvirate of Newport Avenue insobriety. Currently they are sharing stories of their idiocy.

“So the fuckin’ cop arrests me right on the porch, a foot away from my own front door, and drags my ass downtown to the drunk tank.”

Bobby D is all fired up as he relates the story of how his Sunday night ended a few weeks back. He and Sickboy had spent five hours making pitchers disappear on the deck at the ‘Shine before moving next door to Tony’s where they slammed shots for another two hours. They had thrown in stops at South Beach and Pac Shores at the end of the night just for good measure. An hour before last call Bobby D had gotten flighty and rolled home, leaving Sickboy to chat up a little Filipino beauty under the black lights inside the Shores.

When he reached his front door, Bobby D was so wasted that he dropped his keys, kicked them off the porch, and couldn’t find them. The cop busted him as he tried to climb through the window of his apartment. What an interrogation that must have been! Bobby D with his mohawk and handle bar ‘stache, slurring incoherently and puffing up on the pig, trying to explain that it’s his own home he’s breaking into like the world’s clumsiest cat burglar. He’s lucky he didn’t catch a nightstick to the cranium before his ride downtown.

“That’s the kind of shit that only ever happens TO ME,” is how Bobby D ends the tale… just like every tale he ever tells.

Sevrin chimes in next.

“What are you laughing at, Sickboy, you fuckin’ derelict!”

Here it comes.

“Let’s not forget about March Madness a few years ago. Six cops and the paramedics packed into your room at the pad in Clairemont. A huge meat flap hanging off your skull and the whole place covered in pools of crimson after you passed out and cracked your melon. You drank about a barrel and a half of Cutty Sark that night. Who the fuck drinks Cutty Sark?”

Sickboy comes to his own defense.

“Dude, I had just watched Goodfellas that day. Spidah, on your way here git me a Cutty and wooder!

The triumvirate are cracking themselves up.

Stringbean Gina enjoys the show from behind the bar. It never gets old.

“You boys ready for another round?”

“We’re ALWAYS ready!” Sickboy shouts back a little too loudly given the proximity of Gina’s ear to his big mouth. “And a round for the ladies too!”

At the south turn of the bar by the window Betty, Simone, and Jenny are sipping on snake bites and playing coy. Or maybe they’re not playing. Maybe they’re just oblivious to the presence of these boys. It doesn’t matter. Gina pours six fat shots of Petron and sends half to each side of the bar. Three for the ladies and three for the fellas.

Betty shoots a look of gratitude through the flirty librarian specs sitting low on the tip of her nose. “Thank you, boys!”

Six glasses raise and six shots go down.

Jenny makes a face like she just swallowed a mouthful of bleach. It’s the cutest bleach swallowing face Sickboy has ever seen. Then for just a second he catches Jenny’s eyes. There it is! Sickboy’s moment. One second in time when eyes meet and more is said than a thousand spoken words could ever convey.

“Sickboy, quit ogling Jenny, you fuckin’ pervert!” Sevrin chastises his friend.

Sickboy knows he’s been busted yet again. “Ah, come on man. Give me a break. It’s not like that.”

“What’s it like then, Romeo? You’ve been her lap dog for a whole year. Fuckin’ flowers and little notes. You gonna’ step up or what?”

Sevrin has a point. But Sickboy is trying to play it cool. This girl is the real deal. A life changer. Now Sickboy’s tone takes a turn from jovial to introspective.

“Look, she just broke up with that boy less than a month ago after six years of serious relationshippy type shit. The last thing she wants right now is some dude hanging around who’s in love with her.”

Sevrin and Bobby D simultaneously let out a huff of disbelief.

“So you’re in love with her, are you?” Bobby D razzes Sickboy.

“You’re just a big pussy. You don’t even know her,” Sevrin piles on.

“Fuck you guys. I don’t know all of her details, but I know her. I know all I need to know. I’m just doing some old school wooing here. People don’t woo anymore. Wooing is a lost art.”

“Woo? Are you fucking kidding me! WOO?” Bobby D is astonished. “Hey, Jenny” he shouts, “Woo-Woo! Here comes the Sickboy train! Woo-Wooooo!”

Sickboy turns a darker shade of red.

“Now you guys are fuckin’ embarrassing me.”

Stringbean Gina and the girls are cracking up. Bobby D and Sevrin each put an arm around Sickboy and shake him around to let him know they’re just having fun. And they are… having fun. They’re always having fun at Tony’s.

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