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Angels and Oblivion - Ben Langley |
We all got our angels. Supposed to watch out for us, wrap us in those big ol’ wings to protect us from harm.
Mine’s chucking his guts up into the gutter right now.
We all got our angels alright. Only some of us, we gotta look out for them.
First time I saw him, could have been a Tuesday, definitely a weekday, I can’t be certain which one. I was making a dent in a second bottle of Wild Turkey, oblivious to everything going on around me. Mitcham’s is the kind of bar where they’re happy to leave you with the bottle, just as long as you pay in advance. That suited me fine, didn’t have to say a word once the bottle was in my hand. I poured another glass, and stared at it, wondering if this would be the one, the drink that could finally make me forget.
When I reached for the glass, a hand swung in damn fast, and grabbed it away from me. For a second I thought it was Louie, the barman, ready to tell me I’d had enough. Perhaps he hadn’t learnt from the last time he sang that tune. When I looked up, Louie was across the other side of the bar, chatting to some hot young thing. The real culprit was stood beside me, with pure white wings and a shiny halo hovering above his head. He placed the emptied glass on the counter, and a shiver seemed to run through his body as the whiskey hit. A single white feather drifted from his wings to the floor.
My eyes traced the feather all the way down, then I shook my head, and poured another shot. Before I had a chance to slug it, he grabbed it and knocked it back.
He wiped a hand across his mouth and smiled, perfect white teeth reflecting the neon-pink bar signs. His cheeks looked smooth and baby-soft, but his chest was muscular and hard.
“Once more, pal,” I warned as I poured, but again he grabbed it from me and tipped it back.
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