So I just watched Roadhouse for the first time(? I might have seen part of the beginning several years ago). I thought I had seen it before but as I got further and further into the movie I realized no I had not.
The rich guy extorting and controlling the town was not a plot I expected but it unfolded in an enjoyable manner.
The fist fights are almost painfully slow by modern standards with clearly telegraphed punches and kicks. They are easy to watch since the camera isn’t constantly shaking or cutting to a new angle every second.
There is plenty of nude women as one would expect from a movie of this era. Swayze also has his share of shirtless scenes and butt shots as well.
Overall I’d say it’s worth watching at least once for 80’s and Swayze nostalgia.
The ensign found the captain in the port observation lounge, on the upper level leaning on the railing. She was gazing out at the asteroid mining colony, hair loose, uniform jacket open. The ensign approached slowly. “Captain…” she said hesitantly.
The captain gestured at the mostly dark mining colony. “It’s a hell of a thing. An entire colony just gone. At least they left the infrastructure mostly intact.”
A digital world exists around us. Unseen by our eyes. Untouchable by our hands. Avatars mirror our movements tying us physically to the digital realm. We effect that world but does it effect our world? Millions of phones, computers, logged into the same program. A program that must be kept running. Always calculating your position. It that all it calculates?
We move about the world at the whim of the program. It’s control is imprecise, guiding the semi random movements of people through the landscape with incentives. A pokestop here and here creates flow, movement. Structure. A gym pulls us toward it encouraging movement from farther points. To what end does it direct us? What does it gain from our increased movement?
A neuron wonders what the brain is thinking.
We walked out of the electronics and around to the sporting goods section. After a short search, we were found several hooks of plastic encased machetes. Most were simple blades with nylon or canvas sheaths, a few had saw teeth on their back edge or different shapes. One had skulls painted on it. I grabbed the most normal blade I could see that came with a sheathe.
As I struggled with the plastic, Andy pulled out a pocket knife, flicked it open and presented it to me handle first. “Thanks,” I said as I took it and slit the packaging open, “I should probably get a knife for myself.” I carefully handed the knife back to him.
The day is hot. The sun bombards the earth with photons. The sky is clear blue; no clouds to offer the barest of reliefs. The pavement absorbs and reflects the heat back up into the air we walk through.
The day is hot. My long skirt shades my legs and allows the meager breeze to cool them. My white wide brim hat shades my face and reflects the light away from my dark hair. My blouse is thin light material that my skin can breathe through.
The day is hot. I walk this route many times a week, usually alone. Today a man walks in the same direction. We are not walking together. We are not friends. We do not talk. But it is nice in a way to travel with someone.
The day is hot. I am almost home. Soon I can sit and enjoy cool air. The man speaks to me, “So when did you move down here?” “I’m sorry, what?” I reply. I heard what he said but I hope he means something other than what I dread. “Aren’t you from Mexico?” He meant it after all.
There is a knock at the door. Michelle has been gone for long than you expected. Relief cascades through you as you look through the peephole. Michelle is looking away from the door, at something down the hall. She knocks again. You reach for the deadbolt but stop yourself from turning it. There are procedures to follow.
“Who’s there?” you call through the door.
The next day I dressed and geared up to go out again. Backpack strapped on, baseball bat in hand, tire iron as backup. I looked through the window for zombies. All clear. After I moved the sofas away from the door, I checked again through the door peephole before exiting.
I stuck close to fences and building while watching my exposed side. Checked around corners carefully. At the first intersection I looked up and down the street. A couple of blocks away, I spotted a couple of zombies shuffling around. They were in the opposite direction I had to go. I watched them for a couple of minutes until I was sure they were facing away from me. I walked quickly, but quietly, watching the zombies. I made it across and stopped, listening for pounding feet. I peeked back around the corner. They hadn’t moved.
I continued on without seeing any more zombies. When I got to Andy’s store a knot formed in my stomach. The glass on one door was broken and there as a dark smear on the floor.
Content Warning: Suicidal thoughts
“Hello,” Cynthia’s voice came from my cellphone.
“Hi,” I replied.
“Are you all right?” she asked at my less than enthusiastic greeting.
“Yeah…no…kind of, I’m looking at traffic and wondering how fast a car has to be going to definitely kill me,” I said.
It wasn’t meant to be.
I scroll past my friend’s lives. Past their couple’s photos. Past their kids’ photos. Past the posts about their families. I am alone. I didn’t want to be alone. I tried to meet people. I tried dating sites. Even after I transitioned I couldn’t find anyone. In the end, it was easier to just give up.
You’re not missing out.
I still feel alone though. No matter how much I resign myself to a life alone I still feel lonely. I miss dates I never went on. I miss the night’s cuddling on the couch that never happened. I miss holding a hand I’ve never touched. I miss you.
Your life has different plans for you.
I’ve tried to re-channel my self. Into writing. Into learning. Into being. I don’t know where my life is headed. I’m becoming. I’m exploring. The world is still open to me.
Author note: I don’t know if I would call this poetry but it isn’t much of a story either. It’s my feelings and thoughts caught in words. My despair and my hope.
After returning home, I took a short rest before beginning to fortify my apartment. I started by moving the bookcases and mattresses away form the windows. I pushed the mattresses to the side and emptied the bookcases, pulling out the shelves as I went. The shelves were just long to reach across the window frame. There wouldn’t be a lot of over lap to anchor it and the particle wood they were made from wouldn’t take too many nails too close to together. The best thing would be to nail them on the outside. That way a zombie would have to break the board and push through it to get inside not just pop the nails out of the frame.
This, however, would mark my apartment as being occupied to any people who came along though. Even if Andy wasn’t that dangerous that didn’t mean everyone I met would be as harmless. I debated with myself for several minutes before deciding that zombies were the bigger threat. Also, to see my boarded up windows any potential raiders would have to come into the complex and they would find me anyways if they started searching apartments.