Lenin
by Douglas Turek
Vladimir Lenin walked into the bar. Leroy, the bartender, noted
his arrival and began to prepare a cocktail of lemon juice and
rhubarb wine. Lenin sidled up to the bar, accepted his drink from
Leroy, and began to sip at it.
"Stalin was here earlier. Wanted to see you. Told him you
might be in later." Leroy picked up a glass from the bar and
put it on the back counter.
"Fuck Stalin! He's been utterly shocked by my presence ever
since he got here. That fucking bastard!! I hope he runs into a
few million of the people he had shot! Bastard!"
"Calm down, Vlad. You want I should turn on the
tee-vee?"
"Yeah, sorry Leroy. It just burns me up what a wallowing
guilty dirtbag Stalin turned out to be."
"He still apologizin'?"
"Yeah," said Lenin, downing the rest of his drink,
"it's soooo annoying. every time I run into him he just goes
on and on and on about how he didn't know and he strayed from his
ideals, betrayed the proletariat and all that shit. Well, we know
what a load of shit that is. Not only is communism a load of shit
but he knew damn well what he was doing. Even the afterlife is
run by private ownership. Speaking of which, what do I owe you
for the drink?"
"Ninety." Leroy turned to the cash register and punched
the appropriate buttons. Lenin counted out coins from his purse
plus a tip and left them on the counter. He shuffled out of the
bar and walked up Jesus Avenue.
At the intersection at the top of the street, he turned the
corner to Buddha Boulevard. Siddharta would be welcome company.
He went up to the house, a simple cape cod with thatched roofing.
Ironic, he thought, I spent my life fighting for the common man,
but now I find that half my friends are famous figures from
history. Except for lunches with Miriam Taylor and Aaron Copland,
I almost never come into contact with the common man. Then again,
the common man here in the afterlife spends a lot of his time at
orgies, bars, restaurants, and shows. Base instincts never die,
even though we do.
He knocked on the door.
ŠThis work is copyright 1997 by Douglas Robert Turek. Reproduction or distribution is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.