mostly haikus by nick krefting

Archive for the ‘Three Day Weekend’ Category

three day weekend – “jailbird”

In Three Day Weekend on July 1, 2011 at 1:14 pm

“Well, I guess it’s not every day you wind up in jail for doing nothing wrong,” Morris thought. “Might as well make the most of it.”

He got in character quickly, and started up. “Warden! I say, warden!”

A tired-looking forty-something guard sauntered over, looked up at Morris, and sighed. “What’s the problem?”

“I demand to speak to the warden! These conditions are unspeakable!” He waved his hand at his cell, which was actually pretty comfortable as far as jail cells went.

“We don’t have a warden here, this is just regular jail.” Smiling inside, Morris scoffed. The guard sighed again. “Listen, you’ll be out of here soon, we know you were just hanging out at the wrong place this morning. It’s just procedure, and I want to be here about as much as you do. Can you just lay off until you’re out?”

For a second, Morris wanted to keep going, to scream in this guy’s face for a laugh, cuz Damn the Man. But then he took a good look at the guy in front of him. This wasn’t the Man. Balding, pudgy, stooped over – this guy’s life had been fucked and was still being fucked by the Man, way worse than Morris’ ever would be.

So he stopped. He sat in his cell quietly, and when his brother came to pick him up, they left without another word to the guard.


three day weekend – “todd”

In Three Day Weekend on June 17, 2011 at 2:19 pm

He came in as he always did – unannounced, unexpected, and reeking of exotic spices and stale sweat. He was dressed in black from head to toe, his face unmemorable, his greasy blonde hair uncombed, and his hands empty. He spoke in an accent that couldn’t be placed, when he spoke at all. Inside, he was never without a flask; outside, never without a cigarette.


He never gave any coherent idea of his past or where he went when he wasn’t hanging around. No one remembered when he had first appeared; one day, it just seemed like he was a staple in their experience, a small but necessary part of the crew. No one even knew his last name.

They only knew that when we was around, their nights lasted a bit longer and their time together seemed a bit more urgent. Nights spent with Todd were not always the most fun, but they were far and away the most memorable.

And so, in came Todd, and the room seemed to make a little more sense.

three day weekend – “getting clean”

In Three Day Weekend on June 10, 2011 at 12:43 pm

Randy wasn’t covered in cranberry juice, but it was enough. He’d played the stupid game, knew it would end exactly in this way, knew he would get angry at the way it would end, and he had let them talk him into it anyway.

Angrier at himself than anything, he walked away in a huff, his friends calling sympathetically for him to stay and not get so mad. But he needed his time, so he walked upstairs to take a shower and cool off. He found the bathroom occupied, so he stewed in the hall a little longer, covered in increasingly thick and sticky juice.

“Hello?” Randy heard Mickey’s voice call out from the other side of the door. “That you, Randy?”


“I heard some talk about cranberry juice from downstairs, figured it couldn’t be long til you took your shower.” Mickey laughed. “You’re getting a bit predictable in your old age, huh? Hey, listen, I’m about done in here, hang on a sec.”

There was some shuffling, a flush, and the sound of the sink. Then the door opened, with Mickey’s beaming face framed by his chin-length curly brown hair. “Have a good cool-off, my man, ” he said as he walked past him toward the stairs.

Randy stood in the shower for ten minutes, getting clean and wondering what the secret was.

three day weekend – “a time and a place”

In Three Day Weekend on June 6, 2011 at 7:57 am

“No. In no way do I feel guilty making jokes about cancer,” Mickey said. They were sitting on the stoop outside Mickey’s apartment, even though it was a bit too windy and cold for it. It was one in the afternoon on a Saturday. “Not one bit.”

“I’m just saying, there’s a time and a place for that kind of thing. Of course you can joke about whatever you want,” said Morris, staring just to the left of Mickey’s face. “You don’t have to be a dick about it, though.”

It had been raining for two weeks straight. Not terribly strange for spring, but still, it was sort of nice to be outside and dry despite the cold.

“Who’s being a dick? Cancer happens, it is always terrible, and it is horrifying to think about. How else are we supposed to cope with it, by sulking around all day?” Mickey spit, then looked up as the wind started gusting a bit harder.

“I mean, you’re right. Obviously you’re right, but you know what I’m saying.” Morris already knew the conversation was going nowhere, and he’d kind of stopped caring about the whole thing anyway. He greeted the first raindrop with no small amount of relief. “Ah shit. Come on, man, let’s get back inside. Game’s almost on anyway.”

three day weekend – “last man standing”

In Three Day Weekend on May 31, 2011 at 5:44 pm

Morris tipped back the near-empty can and felt the lukewarm, near-flat, tasteless Coors Light trickle down his throat. Time for a refill. He put the can down on the ground, carefully swatted a mosquito on his forearm, then slowly pushed himself out of the lawnchair. He looked around blearily and muttered, “Anyone need another beer?” But there was no one around to hear him, so he made his way toward the screen door.

He stopped along the way to piss against the side of the house. Looking down, he saw his watch on his wrist and managed to read the time and urinate simultaneously. Just after 3AM. No matter. He had nowhere to be tomorrow.

He finished the extremely satisfying piss, zipped up, and went inside. There was a light on somewhere in there, and he saw a couple shapes sprawled on the couches and floor of the living room. “So Morris is the last man standing,” he giggled to himself. “Mark one more for the king.” His attempt at a triumphant arm pump sent him careening into the nearest wall, and did nothing to diminish his pride.

Steadying himself, he walked slowly and deliberately over to the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Winner’s treat,” he thought as he grabbed the single bottle of Golden Monkey that was his prize.  He opened the bottle with the opener on his keychain and made his way back to the lawnchair to enjoy the last beer of the night.

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