Saint Jimmy

{ Eric Brittingham }

They call him Saint Jimmy. i have never questioned it. i suppose it's meant to be ironic. saint jimmy is far from the definition of "saint". i dont know who jimmy is. he's not a musician, drug dealer, pimp, or even a manager. jimmy is just a guy who hangs around that is cool with everybody. no one really knows where he comes from.

"Boy, you look like shit." he told me. the bartender layed another beer on the coaster in front of me. "i feel like shit, jimmy." i said, chugging half the glass. "you remember Cheyenne, right?" i asked him. i can't remember if Jimmy has ever met Cheyenne, or at least heard me talk about her. I try to keep Cheyenne away from these sorts of guys. It's trouble that our relationship doesn't need. somehow, nikki sixx slipped past my barrier. "yeah." jimmy said. "it's over." i was worried that Cheyenne would never come back. i haven't heard from her in two months. when i told her that we needed a break, i expected her to realize within a few days that she couldn't handle living without me. "that's tough, man." jimmy mumbled. i looked at his glass, over flowing with foam and bubbles. "you have no idea. you know, i asked her to marry me. how stupid am I! all these years she has been nagging at me, picking fights and crying because she wanted to get married. now, look where it has gotton us. i'm mopping in a bar, and she's probably in California mooching off Nikki!" i have to learn to not give in to anything Cheyenne tells me to do. she's obviously wrong. marriage was not the best thing for us. I called that from the beginning.

I watched droplets of condensation run down jimmy's glass. jimmy rolled a piece of paper from a straw wrapper between his two fingers. "i'm sorry, but i'm going back to the bus." i told him. i felt like a bore. i grabbed my coat from the back of my hair "i'll see you around, jimmy." with that, i stumbled my way out of the bar.