Worried Man

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Tim Mathews was awoken one morning by the smell of Rye and vomit.

“Oh god, WHAT THE FUCK MAN! Jesus Christ it’s everywhere!”

He got out of bed carefully maneuvering his feet to avoid chunks of half digested cheese and crackers.

“Get off the floor Hank.”

“Ughhhh…”

“Hank get off the floor.”

Tim kicked him forcibly causing more fluid to spray out. Tim sighed. He grabbed Hank by the shoulders and dragged him to the bathroom. After a few heavy heaves he tossed Hank into the tub. With any luck it would contain him until Tim got home.


Tim stepped off the bus smelling of grease and his paper hat, damp around the edges, stuck to his head. He walked his eight block long rut before climbing the stairs. A turn of the key and he was home.

Hank was awoken by the smell of mash potatoes and pork chops. He stumbled out of the tub holding his head.

“Well looks who’s awake. How was your black out?”

He let out a moan and began to wipe the vomit off his Gucci with a paper towel.

“Sorry about the carpet. I’ll call Maria over.”

“No, no, no. We’re sticking to our old house rules. You chuck it, you clean it. No maids.”

“Can I clean it tomorrow? If I smell it that I’m going to vomit again.”

“How do you think I feel, I have to sleep in there.”

Tim set two plates at the table and piled a generous helping of potatoes on eat. Then a slathering of gravy and a seasoned pork chop. The two sat down and began to dine.

“Why don’t you just stay with me for the weekend? You don’t have a shift tomorrow, right?”

“Nah I have the next three days off.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“I’m not taking any hand outs. I’ll pay for what I use.”

“No this ones on me, Tim.”


The duo sat in the back of a limo as it zoomed along the cliff side roads.

“Hey Alfred could you take it a little easier on the turns? Still very hung over back here.”

“Of course sir.”

“See that club up ahead, sPot.  That’s where I’m going to debut my new single, Shells. It has sorta a tropical house vibe with a little bit of trance rhythm.”

“Can I hear?”

“Yeah I’ll play it for you when we get home.

Tim never really understood the musical jargon but he loved the way Hank’s face lit up when he talked about it. He turned his attention to the window. The view was spectacular. The far away Backlands pulsed with the lights of cars and houses, each beam an instrument. The Uptown condos had  an elegant hum to them. The industrial district watched idle. Closed off until the rush of workers brough back it’s life force. And Downtown sat there, empty and dark. Only the occasional opening door gave it light.


The door swung open. The sound echo through the cavernous mansion but never echoed back. Tim and Hank were greeted by one of the servants who Hank ushered to get some drinks for him and his friend.

“Aren’t you still hung over?”

Hank shrugged off the question.

They walked the porous stairs to Hank’s studio. It was adore with the latest, and most expensive, equipment. This single room is worth more than most people make in a lifetime. Hank booted up the PC.

“Alright take these.”

Hank handed Tim a pair of $10,00 mixing headphones.

“Nah, I’m gonna use mine. Hear what they sound like on the average ear bud.”

Tim plugged into the jack.

“You ready to be stolen away?”

Hank grinned as he played the music.


“That song was incredible!”

“Aw come on man stop.”

“No seriously. It had so much heart and meat to it. It sounds like nothing you’ve ever done before.”

Hank and Tim kicked their legs over the side of the roof. Each with a drink in hand.

“It’s really a personal song. This-this life isn’t how I expected it to be…”

“What, expected it to be all hookers and CO-cane?”

Normally that would warrant a smirk but not tonight. Tim sombered his face.

“What’s the matter?”

“You’re my only real friend. Normally I show up at some place and I become the life of the party. I play my music and every gets wasted and dances and grind on each other. But it so shallow, you know? It so surface. At the end of the night I have nothing real to hold onto. Nothing to grab and say, this helped someone.”

“Well it does help them get laid.”

Hank cracked a smile.

“I know they’re gonna love it buddy.”


Dear Reader,

Well I honestly didn’t think I was gonna post today. However I have been reading a lot of books on better writings and i wanted to try out some stuff. One think I have been guilty of is focusing to much on descriptions that don’t matter to the story so I used mostly dialogue in this piece. I also tried to use a good hook opening. I still need to work on conflict and surface problems but hey that’s something to do for the next post!

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-Tye Files

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5 thoughts on “Worried Man

  1. I wouldn’t worry too much about dialogue vs discource.
    It’s really a matter of the medium you’re writing in.
    If you’re writing short stories, dialogue is better because characterisation is more important than setting.
    If you’re writing a novella or longer, it’s the other way around.

    So don’t focus too much on what others say about where you should be writing. Write for the focus of your narrative 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

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