Doug's Gloves

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Doug's Gloves

Post by DoS Archive » Fri Mar 04, 2005 12:37 am

From: (Bode BoJangles)
Date: 28 Mar 2004 00:53:03 EST

"Your old lady know you spend all your time down here scarfing on dead animals?" A fellow by the name of Doug had just taken the barstool adjacent to Bode, and was plucking a slice of pickle smeared in ketchup off of his plate. Bode was hunched over the counter with a half-eaten half-pound burger in both hands, and busy trying to swallow the other half.

"The hell, I'm on break." Bode looked over to Doug, and his focus fell immediately onto Doug's hand as he plopped the pickle slice into his mouth, where he noticed a number of scratch marks, some freshly cauterized, others partially healed. "Dang, bud," pausing to swallow, "don't ya ever use protection with all them crazy pussies ya got?"

"Ayup." At that time, Doug got the bartender's attention to order a bean burger.

"Then how come every time I see your butt ya got those damn marks all over your arms?"

"Probably the same reason every time I see you at work you're always eatin'." Doug lifted a freshly poured glass of ice-water to his lips, soon grimaced as he tasted a hint of beer in it. He then dropped a pair of clunky, leather gloves that he had wrung up in his left hand next to Bode's plate. "You know, the only reason I come here is you."

Bode squinted a sidelong glance at Doug before grinning. "Now you're startin' to sound pretty." Doug chuckled and braved another sip from his water. "I thought ya came here 'cause ya love the Cap's delicious 'bean' burgers."

"I hate 'em. I'd actually love to have what you're having there, but I've had to ween myself off of meat and alcohol ever since I started gettin' these stomach issues."

"Right right." Bode was busy setting his burger down and picking up a glove to examine it.

"'Sides, not everyone who works with animals is some sort of radical vegan."

At that point, Bode flared his nostrils and sniffed the air, then lifted the glove close to his nose and nearly flinched himself out of his stool, his face wrinkled. "Dang, bud. This why you always smell like donkey dung?"

"Probably one of them," as Doug rolled the ice around in his glass.

"Don't ya ever wash these things here?"

"Naw, it would deteriorate the material. You wanted the best I had so you got 'em. Those things are in mint condition. Ten years strong."

"A bit stiff," Bode offered as he slipped the glove on and curled his fingers.

"Yeah, they're a bit limiting, which is why I don't wear them that often. Why'd you need them again? Got some rabid cats hanging around your new place?"

"Naw, just this one big'un. I hear she's a demon 'r somethin'." Bode set the glove down, yet neglected his hamburger since the smell of the glove shot his appetite.

"If it's feral I wouldn't doubt it. They all have the devil in them. Man, one time Finn and I had this mean tomcat cornered, and I swear the thing did a handspring and urinated right in my face."

Bode closed his eyes and held up a hand between them. "What the hell, Doug? I ain't gotta hear what goes on at your chop shop there."

Doug chuckled while Bode got to his feet, tucked the gloves under one arm and grabbed his beer from off the counter. With his free hand he gave Doug's shoulder a firm pat. "Thanks for the gloves, Dig Doug. Let me know when ya need 'em back there."

"Ayup. Hey, if you wrestle down that cat of yours, maybe I can find you a spot at the refuge," Doug said with a hint of a smirk.

"Naw, not if I gotta smell that all the time." As Bode wandered across the floor at Captain Hammer's, he took a whiff of his shirt just to double-check that that odor wasn't coming from him.