Absinthe Vines Essay Research Paper A little

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Absinthe Vines Essay, Research Paper A little money to fill his pockets was all the companionship Travis needed. No drugs, hookers, or other bonuses could ever get him through the night. Just pure green enjoyment. Life on the streets gave hard-edged Travis this kind of love for the economy. Nothing obscene, mind you, it was just the feeling of his pockets, fat with dollar bills, that let him sleep like a baby on pills. Unfortunate for him, they never saw obesity. Rarely even were they husky. He tried anyway. Pick up a job here, mug an old lady there, just to get by and wipe away the spider’s web of insomnia. Still worse than his sleeping habits, however, were his spending habits. He had bar tabs in at least five different counties he would never see again, and he thanked

his lack of a fixed address for that. Right now he was in a different situation. Hyper obesity reigned king in his mind, and he wouldn’t be going on a diet anytime soon. Money was all his to enjoy, because of one simple factor: Travis had a paying job. The bar was a dismal little place in the East Side of New York. Travis was supposed to serve drinks while the usual tender was off doing god-knows-what with god-knows-who. All of his past experience with alcohol had been rather one sided, but hell, he’d seen Cocktail, he could fake it. Usual customers didn’t demand this kind of improvisation, anyway. Beer was the word of the day. Draft, light, and others came straight from the keg, and they emptied as fast as he tapped them. However taxing this was on him didn’t matter. He

had cash. “Excuse me?” Travis said, speaking also with his eyes, which brooded quizzically over the dark hollows of his sockets. “Absinthe,” whispered the boy sitting at the counter. Clothes containing no shortage of black were draped over his skinny frame, his eyes also holding dark half moons, swirling purple and blue. Orange ringed the pupils of his dark brown eyes. He couldn’t have been over 16 years old. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A wiry arm shot up and pulled Travis to the counter, close to those dark, evil eyes. “Where’s the owner? Is Thomas here?” hissed the boy into Travis’ face, his breath smelling of rotten candy, formerly sweet, now bitter with the bacteria that ate it along with the enamel of your teeth. Travis

snorted in disgust and attempted to turn away from this strange kid, but he was yanked back to obedience. “No, he left a while ago. I’m filling in for him.” “Look, just get rid of these guys and take me to the back room. I’ll make it worth your while.” He rubbed two fingers together to make sure Travis knew what he intended. Travis weighed his options, then asked, “How much?” “Whatever you desire.” Travis raised an eyebrow in consideration. ——————————————————————————– White was the first sensation as Travis entered the room. White flowers adorned the blackened walls, adding beauty to the dirt exterior that was lit only by a harsh, bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. “What are those things?” Travis

asked the boy. “Wormwood flowers,” he answered simply. Greasy strands of black hair hung in his face, hiding his huge, piercing eyes. He brushed them away quickly with a pale, thin arm. “They make absinthe out of the poisonous oil.” Tendrils of diluted hostility lashed through his breezy voice. Travis decided not to get too close. The boy scratched away a patch of dust high up on the wall to reveal a small, dully gleaming door. Inside was a combination lock, which he made quick use of. “I copied the combination from Thomas. I have a photographic memory,” he said to no one in particular, tapping his forehead to punctuate. I wonder what else he’s got in that mind of his, Travis thought. He seemed mysterious and intelligent, almost god-like. “Ah, here we are.” He