story time funzo happy day

Robert Stanley leaned against a red brick wall. He didn't know what sort of building it helped to assemble and he didn't care to know anyway. He took a drag from the cigarette that hung from his left hand and let out a sigh. He is waiting for someone, but he doesn't know who or when - all he knows is that they'll be meeting him at the particular red-brick wall where he was. He stops leaning against the wall, supporting himself alone, takes another drag, and then leans back against the wall.

A woman briskly walks by him, and he notices that she is wearing a green dress. She doesn't hesistate in walking right by him, and in her wake follows a scent of perfume and woman. It reminds him of a gal he once spent the night with in Baltimore three years ago. Her name was Gwen & she had a high price-tag. However he had the money, and the time.

He took the gal to a drab movie and a bland dinner at some local resturant which cost him seventy five dollars. Then off they went to check into a hotel room, as he didn't want his pristine image of her to be tainted by where she lived. It was a long night, and the both of them got little sleep. He smilled as the memories came to him, and looked to his left to greet the woman in green . . . but he was too late, as she had already dissapeared behind a corner.

His legs begin to ache from standing for two hours straight and he considers sitting down. He looks down at his grey slacks and thinks better of getting them dirty. He drifts off for a moment on how to find a solution to sitting without getting his clothes dirty. Sliding a hand into his right pocket he feels the metal clank of a lighter and a cell phone. He thinks to himself that he could easily call so-and-so and have them bring a chair to him. But with that in mind he removes his hand from his pocket, and away from the cell phone. He thinks to himself : That would be too easy. He takes his last drag from his cigarette & throws it down to the ground, grinding it with his foot.

An old man hobbles by with short, grey hair upon his head. A wooden cane struggles to maintain the old man's frail structure and supports him from falling over every-which-way. The old man stops in front of Robert and turns to ask him a question :

"Have you got a smoke for an old man?" the years of age and experience can be felt through his voice.

"Smoking will kill an old man, old man."

"So'll living...", the old man begins to hobble away, "that'll kill an old man as well."

Feeling somewhat guilty for no apparent reason, Robert fumbles into his left pocket to get a cigarette from the carton he has within it.

"Hey!" the old man stops again, turns slowly around.

Robert then tosses the cigarette to the old man and it falls short, dropping to the pavement of the sidewalk. The old man looks down at it. Robert looks down at it. Silence, with exception of loud cars driving by and the usual back-drop noise of a large city, ensues.

"Well maybe you're right, smoking will kill me anyway."

And with that the old man turns to continue hobbling away. Robert watches him leave, then his eyes drift down to the cigarette. He thinks to himself that it must be lonely, and fumbles around again into his left pocket to retrieve it a "friend". Right when he grasps ahold of a cigarette, a young teenage boy walks boy and snatches the one on the street into his hands. The boy continues to walk by Robert, inspecting the cigarette, and finding it clean - pulls out a lighter himself and begins to smoke it.

"Smoking will kill a young boy, as well." he mumbles to himself, while with his right hand he reaches into his right pocket and pulls out a lighter and lights the cigarette in his left hand. The boy continues his walk, smoking, and Robert notes that the young boy walks with an air of dignity.

"You're a hypocrit you know." A voice from his left states, as he is still watching the boy in the distance.

"Should've figured it was you who left the messege, Sam." this is said without looking towards the man but still watching the boy.

"I tell you, never met anyone in my life as full as shit as you." Sam makes a noise and in response Robert offers him the cigarette. Sam takes it.

"You aren't so good yourself, Sam." as Sam takes a slow, deep drag from the white-stick of death.

"Almost a year actually. Hate the smell, and hate it even more when I know its there and I've just become accustomed to it - but there everyone is around me with grimaces on their faces like I've not taken a shower in a week - reguardless if i have or not. Hard to find a 'friend' that doesn't charge when you do, and that's why i dont so much." He hands back the cigarette to Rober, who throws it on the ground and grinds it as he did before. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes with seventeen left.

Still looking in the direction of the now-gone boy ( still hasn't looked towards Sam yet ) he chooses a woman with obviously blonde-dyed hair and a matching pink mini-skirt and purse, and asks her if she smokes. She stops, looks at him, sees the carton, and says yes. He tosses the carton to her and she catches it. He asks her what her phone number is, and she gives it to him. He thanks her and tells her that he'll call her later. She then continues to walk along, putting the carton into her purse.

"Bought those this morning... and just quit." he turns to Sam, smiling, "Now what was this about smoking not a good way to make 'friends'?"

Sam laughs, as does Robert.

"I hate you Robert."

"I love you too Sam, lets go eh?"

"Where to?"

Robert shrugs, "I'unno."

Robert & Sam slowly walk away from the brick wall and head off to some other place. Sometime that night they called the blonde. And it was a long, long night. None of them got any sleep at all.

---

now a little about the story and how it came to be :
Robert Stanley is one of my father's ( in fact his only ) good friend.
The name Sam ( which i've noticed tends to be a lot of male-character's names in my stories )
is a friend of Heather's.
those are the names ... now as for the characters themselves :
Robert is what I imagine a combonation of both Mike and I would be if we were "one person."
and if you've noticed - the Jimmoi-istic "I love you" deflation of hostility was mentioned as well.
Sam has no real character asides from some guy ranting about smoking smelling bad.
funzo. so what does everyone think?