SHORTS
The following are a collection of shorts from author Guy Jacobs

South Beach Diners:
"You know, Socrates once said that once made equal to man, woman became his superior"

"You think?" hit lit another cigarette. This may have been his fourth within the last six minutes. Joe did not need Socrates to explain to him just how much of a shmok he was for waiting around for this woman who he barely knew.

"Well you know, she is sort of like a friend of my sister's, I don't want to have any headaches later on when I go home.

I stared at the long line of people who were standing in front of the Purdy Lounge. The array of long olive skinned legs did not mix well with the pink neon that reflected from the club's shady windows. It was getting late now. The night in South Beach always begun around 2am and I was already ready to go to sleep. I was too old for this shit.

"I'll give her ten more minutes, and then, if she doesn't show up, we will just go in without her."

Joe seemed nervous; he was checking his cell phone every two minutes for a text message from this woman while trying to balance his cigarette with the other hand.

I took my cell phone out of my pocket. There was only one person who may possibly have called me at such a late hour, but she was probably lying in bed with another man these days. I think it was Henry Kissinger who once said that no one could ever win the battle of the sexes because there was too much fraternizing with the enemy.

My club sandwich came out of the kitchen at 2:45am. I could tell the time from the large clock on the diner wall. Joe went out side to smoke a cigarette and to, perhaps, once again find the lost text message on his voicemail. I asked the waitress for ketchup. In the adjacent booth, I saw a young couple kissing.

The Evilness of Men:
By the time the round one showed up at the restaurant, I was already done with my soup. Well, I would not really call it soup. It was more of like tomato sauce heated up in a microwave. It tasted like spaghetti sauce but they will still charge me $5.25 for it.

She apologized for being late and I told her not to worry about it. "After all", I told her "I was enjoying my delicious soup, you want some?" She signaled the waitress over and ordered a salad. No croutons, no onions, no carrots and no dressing. What the hell was the point? Well, I guess that is why they called her the round one. Or maybe it wasn't.

We went on conversing without saying too much. She spoke about those things that women speak about and I devoured my hamburger within a few minutes. I always considered French fries to be the greatest invention known to man but she preferred to speak about how I was feeling. How I was feeling? What was she, my doctor? "No, you dumb fuck, I mean, emotionally." She wanted to know what my exact feelings toward her were. "Do you mean on a scale of one to ten or just in general?" She gave me that look of disapproval. The round one wanted to carry on the conversation, but I was getting bored by now. I always preferred my women to be more triangular. I charged the whole thing to my American Express and walked towards the movies. She just stayed there and gave my empty seat the silent treatment. That next morning the round one woke up next to me. I offered her a cup of coffee and she demanded to know what I was thinking and where I think this was all going. I smoked a cigarette and waited to her to leave. The round one would come back that same evening and once again demanded to know why I chose to waste her time.

Henry Miller Museum:
Some things in life never made sense to anyone. For example:

Who would ever believe that Clara would be the kind of a woman who would spend her Sunday afternoons hanging around the Henry Miller section of the Miami-Dade County library? I mean, maybe, just maybe, if she lived in Fort Jackson, Arkansas or Muncie, Indiana, things would be more clear, would make more sense, but here she was, living in downtown Miami, less than 10 minutes away from the world famous South Beach district and Ocean drive. She could have spent her Sundays sitting around the News Cafe or Mangos. She could have had tall Latin men running around and buying her chocolate Martinis. A woman who looked so good always heard the same lines. They would promise her a free trip to the islands, a fancy dinner and drinks in the VIP section of the latest and newest club on Washington Ave. I meant those kind of VIP tables cost at least $1,000. That did not include tip. But instead she just hung around the library.

Not Exactley Then:
It was sometime around April, it was not exactly winter anymore but in no way was it summer. Around these parts of Utah, people really paid attention to the seasons. In winter you could only snow ski or maybe snowboard if you were a bit younger. They had fancy restaurants around here where tourists from all over the world would drink fancy wines and pay large amounts of money for outlandish cuts of venison, elk, deer or endangered buffalo. Even down at the No-Name Saloon down on Main Street inflation came around the winter days. The local Polygamies sold for more than six dollars. The funny thing is that no one minded. After paying more than $70 just to hit the ski lifts, after those six dollar bowls of Chilly down at the lounge, after those apple ciders, who cared about saving a few bucks?

When I met Jenny, it was sometime around April. She was wearing a pink ski outfit and was heading up the towards the slopes. I had a green T-shirt on, it was 65 degrees outside. Which one of us was out of his mind? I could only wonder. In the end of the day Jenny argued, it was all just a matter of perspective.

Those people who held on to their ski equipment where in no way more sane then the people who were jogging down Main Street in their shorts. Sometime life did not make that much sense. The line between irrational contradictions was not that clear when there was a 60 inch base on the mountain and 65 degrees of summer sun out in the air.

I smoked another cigarette and held it all in for just a little longer. Jenny had a boyfriend name Dylan. He was much taller than I, much more astute. Dylan had his ski jacket on. He only skied those more advanced black diamond runs. When he walked out of the room, Jenny held my hand and squeezed it firmly for a moment. I gave her a soft smile and walked away.

On May 23rd, Jenny and I made love for the very first time. It was gentle in a way. There was something strange about the seasons down here in Utah. I held on to Jenny and the two-dollar beers until December came around. Until the tourists all returned. Then Jenny was gone.

Guys like us, we take what we can get in this life.

Hard-Boiled Men © Guy Jacobs 2008