The Landing (first draft)

The Mississippi River smelled like shit, as usual, and Jeffers straightened his ankles so he wouldn’t twist them as he stumbled across the tops of the uneven cobblestones on the Landing. The lights from the Casino Queen docked on the other side of the river reached-out half the way to him and blinked and morphed as the wind blew ripples in the surface of the water. Some asshole behind him honked. There is no sidewalk, ass-face. He picked up a rock and threw it side-armed into the river. It didn’t skip, at least as far as he could see on the black shit water. He had just that week seen video on the news of a barge that sunk, but being this close to the river, he thought about how much it would suck to have to swim in it. They got the people off, though.
His watch glowed 11:46. Mystery Science Theater will be on at midnight. He could just turn go back, but he told Mike he’d come out. Why did he say that? These bars always suck, everytime.
The heat from his coat-covered body rushed out of the neck of the thick, feather-filled mess and Jeffers realized it was a little too warm out for a coat. No one else there is going to have a coat, or at least not one this big, are they? Definitely not. Jeffers unzipped the coat and put his arms in his jeans pockets, pushing the coat around to his back as he stepped onto the main strip of bars and clubs on the Landing.
And there was Mike. And he was already drunk. And he had a group of other drunks with him, and they all looked at him.
Jeffers took out a Bronson-$2.50-a-pack cigarette and lit it. Dried wood that people keep in stack in their backyards for fireplaces. Ashes.
Jenny. Mike didn’t tell him she would be there.
“And Chi walks right up and gets in this cop’s face and says, ‘Hey, why don’t you just go eat a fucking donut, cop.”
Oh God. Mike, you ass, who are these douche bags?
“Hi, Jeffers, what are you doing out? It’s good to see you.”
Jenny’s jacket said Heartland Ravens in that 80’s baseball jersey style, and her lips had glitter.
“Hey.” Jeffers made eye contact with Mike. “This fucker made me come out here, but now I’m glad I did.”
“Oh God, man, are you serious?” said this guy with one of those fake mechanic jackets with the nametag on them that says Sam.
“What do you mean, friend?” Jeffers said. Turning to face this Sam guy. Sam could hardly keep eye contact, obviously a little drunk.
Mike touched Jeffers’ arm and looked him in the eyes. Jeffers turned back.
“I mean, with that line. You do you really talk like that?”
Blood sprayed slightly from Sam’s face as Jeffers’ fist smacked into his nose, and Jeffers could feel the cartilage bow under his knuckle, but it didn’t snap. Sam turned his back to Jeffers and fell to the ground, his hand quickly covering his bleeding nose as three other guys rushed towards him from the sides to keep him from falling on his face.
“You see what happens, mother fucker, you see what happens?” Jeffers felt Mike’s hand gripping his right arm above the elbow as he pulled Jeffers away from the crowd that had formed around this bloody Sam. Jeffers could feel Mike’s fingers touching the bone in his arm, and as soon as he started walking away, he yanked it out of his grip.
“Lay off, man, I got it, I’m cool,” he said putting his hands in the air to show he was safe.
“I know, man, I know. We should just get out of here. I don’t feel like dealing with cops tonight.” Jeffers agreed and stepped up his rhythm. He thought about the blood spraying and looked at his right hand — a line of blood had already dried on the top of his middle finger and some drops had fallen on the back of his hand. With his left hand, he caressed one of the drops — crusty under his fingertips.