Streetlights dance in the reflection of my face on the silver surface of the butcher knife clenched in his trembling hands and all I can think is curse you Tom Cruise.
Thunderous cheering erupts from the stands as the soft pop of the baseball finding the catchers mitt echoes into the night. Players dance under the spotlights, falling over each other in the brown island of dirt on the sea of green grass, where the pitcher once stood. The regular season is over, on to the playoffs.
Joyous spectators pour like ants out of a disturbed hill into the parking lot looking for cars in spaces long forgotten to the epic battle. Our odd ensemble of mismatched ties and coats to go with our shorts, complete with blinking red roses, all for the love of the game and good heckle, ambles across the asphalt to the bass drum of our rumbling stomachs.
Evening lights blur with Friday night noise, drown out by Pearl Jam's Alive, until we roll to a stop in front off the red roof of Pizza Hut. Nothing like a good pie to cure the munchies of competition. Strange looks abound at our attire, sloughed off our shoulders, lost to the laughter and camaraderie.
Her smile breathes warmly across the table as she takes our order and we know she has lost it and so as we are about to leave, on bended knee we present our corsages and...
You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips, there's no tenderness like before in your fingertips, your trying hard not to show it. But baby, baby you know it...you've lost that loving feeling...
Crimson creeps across her face, to our delight and the applause of the befuddled patrons, as we steal into the night only to hear...
Red streaks slash across the cooks apron, adding sinister intent to the gleaming knife in one hand, a tattered flower in the other. His girlfriend, the waitress, beckons to him from the door he just escaped, knwoing it will do no good.
The fool's mouth oft leads them to dine at the trough of trouble.
We survived the debacle and grew up a bit along the way. Every decision we make has a consequence, no matter our intentions. Especially in matters of the heart. Just because Tom Cruise got the girl, does not mean you won't get a beat down. These days I save my songs for my wife, and the shower of course.
I wonder if it would have been worse if we had sang Wild Thing?