Nurse by John Patrick Robbins

Blue Collar Noir, Flash Fiction, John Patrick Robbins, Poetry, Punk Noir Magazine

John Robb new


He had started drinking early and largely hadn’t slowed down aside for the occasional trip to the bathroom to either take a piss or puke.
They all viewed him as a hardship case .

His wife had left and took the kid .
His fridge was empty minus some yuppie IPA beer she had left behind .

it would remain untouched indefinitely like some odd relic in a frozen museum.

Larry Cook was killing himself slowly but then again, aren’t we all dying slowly to begin with.

The bartender shook her head as she walked over to cut him off .

” Larry I think it’s time for you to go home buddy, maybe sleep it off or get something to eat .”

Larry looked at Debra, she was older but still she was a woman and Larry damn sure wasn’t picky .

“You all serve food don’t you sweetheart ?’

“Yes we do want me to get you a menu ?”

Larry just shot her that famous shit eating grin of his and replied .

“Hell no need for the menu sugar pants , just bring me a bowl of bud with a side of that sweet little ass of yours for good measure.”

Jack who was always perched at the end of the bar busted up laughing, as he about hacked up a lung in the process .

As Debra fought back the laughter herself .

“Just carry your crazy ass Larry !”

Larry didn’t press his luck as he made his way back home and about busted his ass getting through the door .

And although he knew it was pointless he looked in the fridge anyways.

It was like an old abandoned house .

With that goofy ass looking beer sitting right there on the top shelf just mocking him.

Larry knew it would be a waste, but fuck it !


He was drunk and only yearned to get even more shitfaced than he was before he finally passed out.

He looked at the weird ass beer, his ex truly had taste for shit, why did you think she ended up with Larry for so long he thought to himself .

And in that odd analogy he made himself laugh .

Larry popped the top, took a gulp and almost spit it out .

It tasted like yard clippings and a dead squirrels ass that had been lying in the hot sun for two weeks .

He looked at the can with rainbow colors and a fucking unicorn on it and some odd fruit loop name.

No wonder the world was going to hell he thought to himself .
Yuppies were poisoning the beer now soon all men would be wearing buns like some skinny jeans wearing, gay ass samurai clan.

But old Larry was holding out, he poured the rest of the poison in the dogs bowl.

He figured as much as he enjoyed eating shit he may enjoy some high culture crap.

He puked in the sink and went to bed sleeping most of the next day.

Most viewed Larry Cook as a miserable old drunk who really went to hell after his wife split out on him.

Larry drank himself silly everyday, was his own boss and didn’t answer to a single solitary soul.

The phone didn’t ring , his wife wasn’t around and he didn’t have some annoying little son of a bitch.

Asking him a million questions when he didn’t have the answer to a single one.

Sometimes what is viewed as one man’s hell is truly another man’s
paradise .


John Patrick Robbins; is the editor in chief of the Rye Whiskey Review , The Black Shamrock Magazine , Drinkers Only and Under The Bleachers. 
His work has been published here at Punk Noir Magazine , The San Antonio Review,  Ariel Chart, Oddball Magazine, Piker Press, San Pedro River Review , The Mojave River Review.
He recently published a book under his pen .
If Walls Could Speak Mine Would Blush.  From Syndicate Press. He is also the author of Sex Drugs & Poetry from Whiskey City Press.
And Once Upon A Nervous Breakdown from Soma Publishing. 
His work is always unfiltered.