Short Story / Snow Burn
Spark
“I’ll take a gyros with no tomatoes, well done, to go.”
“$4.94, please.”
I paid for the awful beast and settled in to wait for my food. A short Mexican with slicked back rockabilly hair, dirty fingernails, and blood red eyes walked out of the bathroom. He’d washed his hands after using the commode, but to dry them, he used his apron, which was encrusted with tzatziki sauce. He was trading shit smears for the crust of dried yogurt cucumber sauce.
His face looked familiar. Was it Jose, the screaming burger chef I worked alongside at Zippy’s ten years previous? Those pulsing facial veins drew the same map, just with deeper potholes. Jose had become even more frightening to gaze upon. The kind of man that causes children to clutch mommy’s leg and hide behind her.
“Jose?” I asked quietly, afraid I was wrong. No answer. He sat down near the sticker vending machines. So he was taking his afternoon break. I was glad somebody else was preparing my food. Despite his lack of response, I had to be sure. I paced over, faking impatience for my greasy pita sandwich. I stole another glance. Definitely him.
“Gallo Negro? Is that you, The Black Rooster?”
“Ees George, yah. You…” He wagged his finger, trying to pin a name on me. He remembered my face, at least.
“It’s me, Steve! From Zippy’s!”
He broke out in a smile. We chatted about the past; about kitchen crew that had moved on to bigger and better things; a few who got deported. The conversation eventually turned to our old business.
“Eeyou steel like-a the cocaine?”
“Fuck yeah!” My eyes lit up, my head nodded vigorously.
“I sell you some next week. I no like selling the heroin, sheet ees no good man. Fucking crazies. I try sell more yay.”
“I’m your man.”
We traded digits. I did not ask how his name switched from Jose to George. None of my business.
Fuse
My brother came to town recently.
“Me and Ricky hung out with Victor last night.”
“It’s ‘Ricky and I,’ not ‘me and Ricky.’” Wait, what? Victor?”
Victor was in jail, last I heard. I’d used him as my primary hookup for two years. He was my favorite coke dealer, a Latin King with the highest grade blow in town. When he disappeared, I was too spoiled by his product to buy the heavily cut speedy garbage sold by the silk-shirted shiny-shoed Euro fucks from the nightclubs. As a result, I dropped the hobby altogether for almost a year. If what my brother said was true, it was great news for me.
“He’s out already? I thought you said that was his third strike last year.”
“Yeah, but he has good lawyers. He still has to go back soon. I don’t know exactly.”
“Must be his sentencing coming up, or some legal technicality. I hope he gets off scott free. Can you reach him? Is he still up to the same old shit?”
“Yep, he’s dealing.”
“Hook it up, bro!”
Detonate
After two weeks testing my new diet of high grade keen, canned Pabst, and the occasional chicken wing, I’ve lost ten pounds, my nose squirts blood at random intervals, I pee out my butt, and my hearing comes and goes. Although using lots of cocaine eventually becomes vaguely unfulfilling, kind of like masturbating to exercise videos, right now I’m the happiest I’ve been in years.
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Beginning of story lacks a hook. As I read I wonder why are you telling us all this. When I reach “Fuse” I am confused. I have to go back and figure out it is the title of the section. You need more setting details to ground the scene. I don’t know where the characters are. After Fuse I am unsure if the main character is still in the restaurant or if we are someplace else. Also, let the reader see what each character is doing while they are talking. Your most interesting line is at the end. What in the world makes this the happiest time in the character’s life? If you move the end to the beginning it could be the hook for the rest of your story.
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hey!you know I’m confused as to whether i liked this story or not, but I guess that’s not the main issue here, right?
in the begining when you say you paid for the beast, and then for your food, I didn’t get that, aren’t they the same? it’s not clear what you mean..
the next part is ok, i liked it and your description was filled with imagery, but then you talk about your brother and then again i get confused, when is your brother talking and when you? i had to reread it several times to get it, if you were attempting to publish a text I don’t think the editor would rereadit in order to understand it… then there is the fact that Jose, George and Victor are dealers but what about it? how do they interconect, what does the first part have to do with the second and third?
the third which I found simply nasty, and only because I find no justification for its being there…
hope this is helpfull. good luck.
I liked this story until the final third portion of it. The writing in the first two sections felt quick and concise. The last section just doesn’t feel to blend in with the style.
It also leaves fundamental questions. Yes, we know the narrator has taken cocaine and we can deduce that he enjoys the hobby, but he has also ceased to do it a year and a half. Why does scoring cocaine now make him the “happiest [he’s] been in years”? What was his life like when he is not on a coke? Why does he think nosebleeds and hearing loss is all worth it? It’s obviously not just because he is looking for a fix since he went cold turkey when his dealer got locked up. I think you need to further clarify the narrator’s stance on the whole deal.
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