I'm Feelin Like Writing A TR...Its Been A While..I'm Nervous

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donini

Trad climber

Ouray, Colorado

Jul 11, 2013 - 07:46pm PT

I've been remiss too, but with upcoming trips to Tajikistan in August and China in October I'll have no excuses.

limpingcrab

Trad climber

the middle of CA

Jul 12, 2013 - 01:48pm PT

Please write it in the third person. I haven't seen one of those yet

JEleazarian

Trad climber

Fresno CA

Jul 12, 2013 - 03:33pm PT

Scott,

Now you're just being a tease. I actually thought this might be that TR. My personal rule is that every disaster, failure or bail results in a good story. I will wait patiently for your next output.

John

PAUL SOUZA

Trad climber

Central Valley, CA

Jul 12, 2013 - 05:00pm PT

Suck it up Sally and git it done!!

Haha :)

micronut

Trad climber

Topic Author's Reply - Jul 19, 2013 - 05:38pm PT

TEASER: TR IN PROGRESS:

It’s 4:00pm in The Ahwahnee Bar. Micronut slides a clumsy hand across the smooth mahogany, between stacks of empty shot glasses towards a fresh fill of scotch, his knuckles still a bit swollen from the last few days of effort. The pretty brunette behind the bar thinks twice before splashing him another pour.
“Whoah there cowboy, lets pull in the reins. You’ve been here since breakfast and the dinner crowd is starting to stare. You don’t want to…….“ He cuts her off and points a chalky finger straight at her.
“Look Sabrina….It’s Sabrina right? “ He asks with a slur.
“You seem like a sweet gal. I got plenty of money, plenty of time and plenty of heartache. My boys are up there on El Cap right now and I’m sittin’ here on flat land with a knee the size of a cantaloupe and a nothing to show for a full year of big wall training other than whole bunch of bail. How bout you just pour.”
She drizzles a few fingers of 25 year old Macallan into a new glass and slides it his way.
“Besides, the whiskey numbs the pain……..”
Brushing some beer nut husks off his chest , he wanders over to the window. He stares out the glass, beyond the lovers in the courtyard and the tourists frolicking in the meadow. Out past the massive oaks and beyond the river. Upward he gazes….up into the seep, hard gray walls above the hotel. Up where he’d rather be. Up where he should be.