Jeffrey leans on the wall with one foot up against the brick and both hands shoved into his leather jacket pockets. It’s actually faux—but if you tell anyone, he might kick your ass. But probably, he’ll just try to make you flinch and call it even, then kick a pebble when you aren’t looking, out of frustration.
Occasionally, he pops out his mouth to give it a break from the cigarette that tilts out of it. It’s heavy.
He is imagining he is a blue collar sailor, finally stepping outside for a cigarette after a hard-earned dinner. Sea farthing life. A man made to roam, not to follow. But in fact, he is a small, dainty man.
His hair falls around his face in dark ringlets, his pants are purposefully ripped at the knees, and he wears sunglasses at night.
Cars fly past then stop suddenly. Horns honk erratically and puddles reflect stop lights off the ground. Jeffrey stands outside of a bar. 2AM. The witching hour, he thinks. The witching hour is actually 3-4AM. Close enough, he thinks.
Upon hearing a building across the street from his apartment was haunted by a friend, he promptly mooned the building from the window. This is a man who will probably be haunted by a ghost in his early twenties.
A woman comes down the street, a dress and flats on and a purse around her shoulder. She looks straight ahead of her and walks quickly.
Jeffrey can't help but begin to smile as he flicks his cigarette down to the sidewalk. Seems classier without it. He thinks, once he has enough money, he’ll save up for one of those pimp jackets—the long leather ones with a fur collar and built in gloves.
He inhales deeply before he lets out a drawn out, obnoxious wolf-whistle, clapping his hands together repeatedly as if he was watching a race. “Ayo, shawty!” He yelps. Sometimes, he likes to think he’s black.
The woman's face twists into disgust and she rolls her eyes, picking up the pace.
Jeffrey stops, leaning back against the wall, watching her go. He tries to think of that catchphrase.
“I hate it when you leave but I loooove watching you go…” By time he remembers, she’s out of earshot. His smile slowly diminishes. After a moment, it turns into a look of fury.
Turning on his heel, he punches the wall behind him, then leans all his weight onto his forearm as it supports him.
Tears begin to streak down his face. He usually only does this in the shower.
Pulling out his phone from his back pocket, he opens the tab he had been looking at just minutes before that read: "How to Pick Up Chicks on Street Easy Guaranteed to Work" on a Craigslist ad with the subheading "I met my wife of 11 years after I catcalled her on the street one night."
Jeffrey squeezes the phone until the whites of his fingers show, then slams it down onto the ground in frustration.
The knees of his skinny jeans rip just a little wider.
Walking two paces, he throws open the door to the bar.
Jeffrey’s just walked in, he thinks, prepare to feel the mood change.
But in fact, the chattering instantly gets louder. Clusters of people circle around various tables, mill around, and laugh very, very loudly. The tall ceiling creates echoes, and the narrow walls make it claustrophobic. The acoustic guitar coming from the stage is being strummed methodically, setting itself apart from the chatter.
Through the crowd, Jeffrey makes his way towards the bar, nudging people with his shoulders. He is still crying, and wipes a tear off his cheek.
Leaning on the bar, waiting for the tender, Jeffrey looks down the row of seats, all filled.
Three seats down, he notices the back of a woman's head.
Jeffrey leans back to get a better view, but all that is visible is her long, heavy brown hair and highlights, and a small black dress, draping sensually over her shoulder.
She is alone.
Jeffrey leans so far back on his stool he stumbles and falls flat onto his back.
Drawing the attention of the people nearest to him, they stand and see that he's okay—but mostly, they are just confused. Jeffrey seems not to have noticed his own fall.
Jeffrey's eyes still do not leave the woman's back.
Hesitantly, she starts to turns around.
"Free Bird" plays from the stage.
Balancing on his elbows, Jeffrey pays no attention to the people around him.
The woman is fully facing him now.
It's Big Bird in a wig.
A look of confusion crosses Jeffrey's face, but still, as Big Bird reaches his hand down for Jeffrey to grasp onto, he takes it. Big Bird pulls him up with inhuman strength, making him once again stumble. Jeffrey stares into Big Bird's eyes as they face each other head on, and Big Bird self-consciously pushes a strand of hair behind his ear. Jeffrey can't help but smile.
The other people go back to what they were doing because this is all so boring and Jeffrey gestures towards the bar. “What’ll you have?”
“Oh, I don’t know if I should…” Big Bird shakes his head hurriedly, looking to the bar entrance, then his watch. He gives Jeffrey a "hope you understand" smile, but Jeffrey insists, gesturing once again to the bar.
“C’mon, I’m not asking for nothing in return—I just wanna get to know ya.” The weird thing is—he meant it.
Or at least, he thought he did. So let him have his moment—but subconsciously, he was just set on having this hot piece of woman in his bed tonight.
Big Bird smiles bashfully and nods. “Okay…just one drink though.” They begin to walk back over to the counter when a thunderous crash interrupts them.
The two whip around to the entrance. A cloud of smoke and drywall surrounds the door, making the surrounding people cough. Was it a smoke bomb? A riot? A robbery?
When the debris clears, there stands Jason Momoa on a silver stallion, shirtless.
The entire bar quiets as he canters over to Big Bird, his eyes locked with Jeffrey's the whole time. Jeffrey really works his lower abdominal muscles, trying to hold in his own shit.
Jumping off the horse with a thud of buckles, he raises one arm and rests it over top of Big Bird's shoulders, drawing him close.
The bar collectively gasps. Big Bird flinches when Jason tugs on the sleeve of his dress, revealing a tattoo on his forearm which reads: "Property of Jason."
Jeffrey still looks up at Jason, shaking his head. “Man, did you go downhill since Baywatch…”
Nobody in the bar says anything. Nobody agrees with him.
Big Bird scoffs, and tugging his arm from Jason's grip, goes to stand with Jeffrey who is instantly taken aback. Big Bird crosses his arms over his chest defiantly.
After a moment, Jeffrey puffs out his chest and puts his own arm around Big Bird's shoulders. Maybe he is on the same level as Jason Momoa. Or maybe he was superior. God, what did she see in him? She was so fucking beautiful.
Jason's eyes go wide in shock. His stallion whinnies. Lightning flashes outside the windows. "Free Bird" ends and the person on stage suddenly has an electric guitar, now playing "Through the Fire and Flames" at its correct speed.
Jason's hair begins to float with rage and he starts to lift off the ground. His shirt rips open as he flexes his pecks, revealing that he was never shirtless in the first place, but was wearing a shirt of a bare man's chest the whole time.
He is even more jacked underneath it. His eyes focus onto Jeffrey. In one quick movement, he outstretches his arm to point a finger at Jeffrey's face, then to the center of his own chest with his thumb. “Do you accept my challenge?” He bellows.
Big Bird gasps.
Lightning crashes around Jason’s levitating hair and glowing eyes. The air is electric. These people will die in three years from radiation.
Jeffrey, with narrowed eyes, nods in acceptance and pushes Big Bird to the side. “I got this, babe.”
Everyone in the bar clears away. Chairs and tables are heard scraping on the wooden floors away from the two. A circle is formed around them, like this happens every Friday night.
Jason flexes his fingers out in front of him, and out shoots lightning, making two piles of wood appear with axes sticking up from the top.
Jason gestures towards the pile in front of Jeffrey as he takes his own axe in his hands, holding it at ready above his shoulder. “Ready, goldilocks?” he nicknames him.
The bartender holds a stop watch and clicks it, pointing at the two to begin. This truly must happen every Friday night.
Sweat immediately drips from both of their brows. It looks sexy on Jason. It looks pathetic on Jeffrey. He chops the wood as fast as humanly possible—and Jason, just bordering on inhuman.
Interrupted by the buzzing of the stop watch, a minute has passed, and Jeffrey lifts his head up from his 2 logs to see Jason's gigantic stack of 60 towering over him.
The crowd goes wild.
Jason smiles, satisfied as Jeffrey tries to catch his breath. “Maybe you take the jacket off. It seems to be weighing you down,” he laughs, “Even though it’s only faux.”
With a flash of lightning, the wood disappears and in it's place appear a box of tools.
Before Jeffrey has a chance to react, Jason slides himself under the motorcycle to begin fixing it. Jeffrey hurriedly tries to make it seem like he’s doing the same as the crowd roars.
Before the clock has a chance to ding, Jason shoots up, grinning, and kick-starts the motorcycle. The crowd screams.
His hands go to his hips and he laughs wholeheartedly as Jeffrey rolls out, grease on his face, looking shit on, and even more confused.
In a puff, both motorcycles morph into two alligators. Jason immediately tackles one to the ground, rolling around on the floor.
Jeffrey's eyes roll back like he might faint. A push from behind sends him flopping down onto the gator, and yelping, he grasps on to its middle as it tries to bite him without success.
Jason has his gator in a choke hold and punches it repeatedly in the face. The alligator starts tapping out with it's foot.
The bartender pounces over and smacks the ground beside him with his full body in victory.
Jason stands. Once again, with his arms outstretched, he laughs as the crowd of people whistle and scream. When he looks over to Jeffrey, seeing him still clinging to the gator who still tries to whip around, he walks over, still laughing. "
Plucking Jeffrey off the gator and holds him in front of him, smiling. “Even goldilocks could handle a bear.” Pushing him to the side, he grabs the gator with one hand and throws him out the door in celebration.
Honking is heard amidst the cheers. Jeffrey lay curled up on the floor, peeking beyond his arms. Through them, he can see Jason looking down in pity, scoffing.
Slowly, he stands, leaning on a chair for support.
Jason continues to laugh at him, as does the bar.
The crowd begins to quiet, and both Jason and Jeffrey look around for Big Bird, but he's nowhere to be seen. A cough is heard from the entrance, and there stands Big Bird clutching his purse, the wind from the outside tossing his hair. A look of both shame and disgust is across his face. The same facial expression of the woman on the street from earlier manifests itself in Jeffrey's head.
Shaking his head sadly, Big Bird turns away, his back to them once again, and sexily saunters out the door.
Jason drops to his knees in dismay and Jeffrey freezes in his position. Both of them stare out the door, then, slowly, turn to each other.
It is silent.
Carefully, the two straighten and walk towards each other.
Jason finds one of Jeffrey's curls and wraps it around his finger. Jeffrey blushes and looks at the ground.
Jason's hand comes up to lift Jeffrey's chin to his now smiling face.
They kiss.
FADE OUT.