The morning sunlight shines through the curtainss of his small one-room apartment. The dissipated rays illuminate his room enough to notice the mess: clothes flung into piles on the floor, dishes staked up by the sink, old takeaway boxes in every nook and cranny, and a shaggy carpet that hasn't been vacuumed in weeks. Kyle lies in bed on his left side, sleeping in the filth. The radio clock, on his bedside table, ticks from 7:59 AM to 8 AM, and voice of the present blasts out.
Radio Host: ''Some exciting news today, as promoters in our neighbouring state of Massachusetts anounced the opening of Brutal Force-'
Kyle rolls over with a groan and turns off the radio. Slowly, he sits up from his bed and grabs the closest pair of socks from the floor. He rises and walks over to the small fridge, grabbing the milk and bringing it to his mouth - taking a mouthful.
He retches, spitting the milk out onto the floor. He checks the label, it's out of date.
Kyle Brennan: ''Shit!'
He pours the milk down the sink before putting on a pair of trousers and a shirt. He leaves the empty carton of milk on the kitchen counter as he heads for the door.
The bar is filled with the usual alcoholic patrons, most of whom live (or sleep) in apartments or park benches down the street. The doors open and Kyle storms in to the cheers of the locals, and his manager.
Manager: ''You're actually on time!'
Kyle Brennan: ''Yeah, blame the milk that went sour in my fridge.''
Kyle walks over to an old man - clothes tattered and sticking of shit - who sits at the bar.
Kyle Brennan: ''What're you having today, Bernie?'
Bernie turns to Kyle, his eyes are vacant and a smile is plastered on his face.
Bernie: ''A cool glass of your finest ale, sir!'
Kyle Brennan: ''It's 9AM in the morning and you're already loaded?'
Bernie gestures wildly, almost operatic.
Bernie: ''Life is short, Kyle! You must live and enjoy every moment as if it'll be your last!'
Kyle laughs and nods his head.
Kyle Brennan: ''Alright alright, one beer coming up. I assume that's the same for you, Shelly?'
A woman in her mid-forties, sitting further down the bar, nods her head in agreement. He goes behind the bar and begins to pour out two beers as the manager switches on the old television, which is located at the corner of the run-down bar. Kyle hands one of the beers to Bernie, who smiles and takes a thirsty gulp, then walks down the bar towards Shelly, passing her the other beer.
Shelly: ''Thanks, Kyle!'
Kyle Brennan: ''No problem. How're things going with you?'
Shelly: ''Not great, really. Derrick's looking for full custody, saying that I neglect the kids and all... He;s such a fucking liar - why the hell did I marry that loser?'
Kyle Brennan: ''Alcohol, I'd guess? The nectar of the Gods sure does cause a lot of problems for everyone, myself included.''
Shelly smiles and leans in to the bar, getting closer to Kyle.
Shelly: ''Like what?'
Kyle shakes his head and laughs.
Kyle Brennan: ''Ah forget about it, you don't want to know.''
Shelly: ''Sure I do! It'll make me feel a lot better 'bout the shit I'm going through.''
Kyle looks around the bar, making sure nobody else is near; Bernie is almost finished with his beer, completely oblivious to the world. He leans in twoards Shelly, who begins to blush.
Kyle Brennan: ''Well... a few months ago I was working in London.''
Shelly: ''London!?'
Kyle Brennan: ''Shh! Anyway, there was this guy there too. He was a massive douchebag, but a few days into the job I bumped into him at a bar, and i was already wasted, so one thing lead to another and... well... y'know?'
He smiles and Shelly nods her head in agreement. A few second later, she fully begins to realise what Kyle's said, and she shhoots him a look of shock. She leans away from him slowly, still giving him an incredulous look.
Shelly: ''Oooohhhh... so, uhm, what happened?'
Kyle Brennan: ''He didn't like what I had done to get the job, and broke it off. Soon, the company died and my VISA expired, so I had to come back to America.''
Shelly sits at the bar, the shock beginning to fade.
Shelly: ''What was the job?'
Kyle laughs in embarrassment and shakes his head.
Kyle Brennan: ''I wanted to become a professional wrestler - it's mortifying to think that I could just do it without any actual training. It's almost a good thing that he got me to quit - I was making a fool of myself.''
This time it's Shelly's turn to laugh. Kyle looks at her in confusion.
Shelly: ''And you're doing better now? Are you happier now? You're a dickhead if you give up because some British pansy - no offense - told you to stop.''
Kyle doesn't reply. Shelly opens up her purse, grabs a well-worn leaflet and throws it onto the bar. Kyle opens it - it's for Brutal Force Wrestling.
Shelly: ''This bar is reserved for people who are either too old or too drunk to try again.''
Kyle smiles as he reads the leaflet advertising the new federation.
Shelly: ''The first show is in about a week, so if you make it in time you're still gonna have to convice somebody in the building to give you a shot.''
Kyle looks up at her and nods his head.
Kyle Brennan: ''Thanks.''
He stuffs the leaflet into his jeans pocket and storms out of the bar, leaving the manager bewildered.
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Thu Dec 31, 2015 8:28 am