NOT REALLY AS IN NOT REALLY
Inside of the door covered in cowbells and windchimes and sounds a carwreck when he closes it behind him. Girl maybe fifteen looks up from the register as she files her nails smacking gum cigarette going granny ash on Coke can top. TV's on in corner its antennae covered in foil little rocks resting in formations strange upon its lid. Girl's mama maybe thirty sits three inches from TV. Glavine pitches. Ball two.
You suck you suck you suck. Goddamn it all now. You durn suck. Caint throw no strike to save his durn life. Baby what you want? I get you anythin?
Pack of Marlboro Lights?
Aint got no Lights. We got Reds and Pall Mall and Chesterfield. No methol. Aint carry no nigger smokes.
Guess Reds will do.
She hands him the pack and a book of matches.
You Braves fan?
Yes m'am.
I look at them since I weren't but yay tall.
She holds her hand out at three feet, her cigarette smoldering, her four knuckles tattoo'd S T A R.
Member Dale Murphy?
I do.
Damn he fine. Got him bout twenty youngin. You know that?
He's a Mormon.
He's hung like a south Georgia mule is what he is.
Don't know nothin about that.
Ha ha ha. Bet you don't baby. Bet you don't.
She drags on her cigarette.
You got a girlfriend? You want one?
She points to fifteen year old filing her nails.
Not really.
Not really as in not really or not really as in not her?
Just not really.
You laughin at me?
No mam.
I just messin with you.
Glavine throws. Batter swings. Strike one.
Lord God I do hate me some Bobby Bonilla. He think he God's gift to baseball. That motherfucker got whooped with the ego stick. I'd beat his black ass if I ever run into him.
Glavine throws. Batter swings. Justice back to the warning track. Home run.
Well they just damn shit in church aint they? Goddamn it all and that off Bonilla too. You sure you aint want a girlfriend?
I'm sure.
The fifteen year old opens a Hostess Chocolate Pie and bites into it and the filling runs down her chin and she smiles and wipes her chin and drags on her cigarette. Her t shirt is two sizes too small and it says PORN STAR on the chest in rhinestones.
You want me for a girlfriend?
What?
Ha I done got you with that one. You look like you stepped in cow shit. Ha ha.
I just moved in down the way. Is there any place to eat in walkin distance?
There Littles Grocer over on Carroll Street. They got a grill in there. Kenny deliver to your door if you want. I can call em up and you can order fore you get there.
That's alright. I'll just walk over there.
Get yourself a Cabbagetown steak.
I don't want a steak.
It aint steak.
What is it?
A fried baloney sandwich with tons of cheese and mayonaise and pickles. Sound bout as good as Braves World Champions don't it?
Sounds alright.
The fifteen year old puts the pie down on the counter and looks at the wrapper.
What the hell they put in them? Taste like plastic. Taste like burnt plastic smell. Caint eat this no more you want it mama?
She holds the half eaten pie out towards her.
Rather have me a bite of Dale Murphy yes m'am I said it. Lord have mercy. Tommy, what in Gods Green Acre. You suck you suck you suck.
You suck you suck you suck. Goddamn it all now. You durn suck. Caint throw no strike to save his durn life. Baby what you want? I get you anythin?
Pack of Marlboro Lights?
Aint got no Lights. We got Reds and Pall Mall and Chesterfield. No methol. Aint carry no nigger smokes.
Guess Reds will do.
She hands him the pack and a book of matches.
You Braves fan?
Yes m'am.
I look at them since I weren't but yay tall.
She holds her hand out at three feet, her cigarette smoldering, her four knuckles tattoo'd S T A R.
Member Dale Murphy?
I do.
Damn he fine. Got him bout twenty youngin. You know that?
He's a Mormon.
He's hung like a south Georgia mule is what he is.
Don't know nothin about that.
Ha ha ha. Bet you don't baby. Bet you don't.
She drags on her cigarette.
You got a girlfriend? You want one?
She points to fifteen year old filing her nails.
Not really.
Not really as in not really or not really as in not her?
Just not really.
You laughin at me?
No mam.
I just messin with you.
Glavine throws. Batter swings. Strike one.
Lord God I do hate me some Bobby Bonilla. He think he God's gift to baseball. That motherfucker got whooped with the ego stick. I'd beat his black ass if I ever run into him.
Glavine throws. Batter swings. Justice back to the warning track. Home run.
Well they just damn shit in church aint they? Goddamn it all and that off Bonilla too. You sure you aint want a girlfriend?
I'm sure.
The fifteen year old opens a Hostess Chocolate Pie and bites into it and the filling runs down her chin and she smiles and wipes her chin and drags on her cigarette. Her t shirt is two sizes too small and it says PORN STAR on the chest in rhinestones.
You want me for a girlfriend?
What?
Ha I done got you with that one. You look like you stepped in cow shit. Ha ha.
I just moved in down the way. Is there any place to eat in walkin distance?
There Littles Grocer over on Carroll Street. They got a grill in there. Kenny deliver to your door if you want. I can call em up and you can order fore you get there.
That's alright. I'll just walk over there.
Get yourself a Cabbagetown steak.
I don't want a steak.
It aint steak.
What is it?
A fried baloney sandwich with tons of cheese and mayonaise and pickles. Sound bout as good as Braves World Champions don't it?
Sounds alright.
The fifteen year old puts the pie down on the counter and looks at the wrapper.
What the hell they put in them? Taste like plastic. Taste like burnt plastic smell. Caint eat this no more you want it mama?
She holds the half eaten pie out towards her.
Rather have me a bite of Dale Murphy yes m'am I said it. Lord have mercy. Tommy, what in Gods Green Acre. You suck you suck you suck.
Labels: ATL, Atlanta, Bologna, Cabbagetown, Cabbagetown Steak, Fried, Littles Groceries, Saras Groceries, Vanishing South
posted by GSV JR at
4:42 AM
6 Comments:
Dale Murphy....good...but not as good as tiny Fulton County Stadium made his HR numbers....
Every baseball fan worth their salt usually dots Murphy with an asterisk when speaking of him.
If you say anything disparaging about Bob Horner, however, I will whip your tail, sir.
Ahhh..Mr. Horner. I remember the Rookie of the Year race well.
He was came up in the era when my Phillies were poised for a World Series so I was following closely.
I thought it a shame that he de-camped to Japan later in his career.
As for Atlanta in general...one of the best games I ever saw in person was 1993 at Phila with Schilling v. Avery in Game 1 of Pennant series. Braves had quite a staff that year...
Ugh. Schilling... That name makes me throw up in my mouth a little.
We had the warhorses then. Now, not so much... And T-Hans doesn't look so sharp early.
I have no idea how these people are that you speak so fondly of. But I do know that yarn had me reading all the way to the end.
'who'
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