Nick Ferlinghetti stepped onto the sidewalk as the bartender shut the door and turned the sign to “closed”. Nick liked the barkeep for conversation and he didn’t keep asking him to order drinks. It was a way to spend time without effort on his part. Nick pulled out his comb and slicked his heavily greased hair into the perfected ducktail, wiped the comb on his jeans and put it back in his pocket.
He had a casual nonchalant walk about him, hands in his pockets imitating James Dean. He thought James Dean was the coolest guy alive. Nicky paused to lean against a street light and pulled the soft pack Lucky Strikes out of his rolled up sleeve. His black striped shirt glowed under the lamp and he knew he looked good. He watched the match flame flicker out and took a long drag on the cigarette. He felt cool.
A sudden light from an upstairs window across the street got his attention. The glass was wide open. The woman was undressing slowly, as if she knew Nick was watching. He felt uncomfortable at first, but couldn’t take his eyes off her. Nick watched as she seductively removed her clothes and then turned out the light. He smiled to himself, knowing she put on a show just to tease him.
He walked down the street, causing dogs to wake and be cursed by their neighbors. Two streets over, garbage trucks were starting up their loud rough engines. The news van passed by, throwing out a bunch of tied up papers onto the step of the diner. It was almost four and they’d be serving breakfast soon.
Nicky threw down the butt and went up the steps to his door. He grabbed the bottles of milk sitting there and stepped in. It would be only a few hours sleep before going to work. It was just another morning, like all the rest.