“Murphy, this is your last warning. Get the fuck out of my bar!”

Pat Kelly, the owner of this shit-hole, is screaming at me, something he’s done before. He’s telling me that if I don’t leave his place now, he’ll call the cops. I’m standing, but I haven’t started walking toward the door yet. Instead, I’m staring at the asshole who got me into this situation.

You should see him. He’s a pretty boy, a blondie, sitting in a chair, with ice over his eye, crying like a little bitch. I can tell he’s not from around here. I don’t know who he is. I don’t care who he is. All I know is that he wouldn’t be sitting here with a black eye if he hadn’t fucked with me.

I’m Korbin Murphy. I’m 26-years-old, Irish, and I’ve been living in Chicago all my life. If you ask me, I think I’m a nice man. But if you ask most everyone else, they’ll probably tell you I fight too much, and I drink too much.

Are they right about that? Sometimes. I don’t know why I get into so much trouble, but I just do.

I guess I should tell you some more about me. I’m from Mount Greenwood, South Side Chicago through and through. I grew up with five brothers and sisters - James Jr., Brendan, Alice, Kelly, and Katy - in a little house with just three bedrooms and one bathroom. My parents stopped having kids after my sister Katy was born. Mom says they would have had more, but it wasn’t in God’s plan. I get it, the whole Irish/Catholic thing, but it’s probably good my parents stopped having kids after Katy. Just sayin’.

It was pretty crazy growing up in my house. Crowded, laundry everywhere, arguments all the time. But we never missed Mass with Fr. O’Donnell. I went to Catholic schools all my life, too, but I never went to college. My parents told me if I wanted to do that, I’d have to pay for it. So, I never did it.

My mom is a good, Catholic woman who stayed at home and took care of the family. She dealt with six kids, and she put up with my dad who was a drunk and a womanizer. There was a lot of stress on my mom, but she never once complained. She always had a smile on her face.

So, I guess I’m like my dad. In fact, we look just alike, or, we did before age and alcohol got the best of him. I’m good-looking like he was, and I’ve got muscles like he used to have. He got his from working construction, just like me.

The only difference between my dad and me is he fooled around and I don’t. I don’t have any desire to cheat on a woman. The ladies never last long enough for me to get any sort of relationship going anyway. They say I’m trouble.

I guess I am. It’s not like I haven’t tried to change, but every time I try I fail. Why bother with it? I am who I am.

Pat stares at me from behind the register. He’s a tall, redheaded Irishman with a big beer gut. “Murphy, I’m going to tell you one last time, and that’s it,” he says, pointing his finger at me. “Get the fuck out of my bar. You got me?”

He could probably land a good punch on my face if he were that sort of a person. But he’s not. He’s got a loud mouth, though.

I still don’t do what he says, and I know I’m pushing my luck. I’ll leave in a minute.

How did I get into this jam? Like I told you, it’s because of the asshole I’m staring at, Zach, the rich blondie. He bet me at pool, and I said sure, let’s bet. When I saw the Rolex, I could tell he had money. So, I figured I’d go for a big number, like $300, which he was more than cool with. I was grinning from ear to ear because I’m good at pool and I knew I could beat him. When I did beat him, and he ended up owing me the cash, he had a little fit and told me he wouldn’t pay it. The bitch is going to bet me money and then not pay it? Yeah, I don’t think so. I confronted him.

He got in my face and said to me, “What do you plan to do about it?”

I told him, “I’ll show you what I plan to do about it,” and I knocked him on his ass.

I knew the money was in his pocket. So, I held out my hand. He gave it up, and he gave it up quick. Now he’s in the chair, whining about how I knocked him down. And Pat, who doesn’t like me anyway, is taking his side.

Okay, I admit that the fights I get into are getting old. But, as I said before, that’s just the way it is.

What exactly do I have going for me? I live alone in a one-bedroom apartment. I got no girlfriend. Women are attracted to me because of my looks, but once they see me fighting and drinking too much, they leave just as quickly as they came. I work hard every day at my construction job. What else is there but to drink and fuck motherfuckers up?

Speaking of women, I can’t take my eyes off of Blondie’s girl. She’s sitting by his side listening to him whine, and then she’ll look up at me with a dirty look. Then she’ll look back at her boyfriend, or whoever he is. I sure would like to spend some time with a woman like that. Long dark hair, slender body, the cutest little nose I’ve ever seen, and big brown eyes. She looks like the girl-next-door type, the kind of woman I’ve always been attracted to. I’m sure she’d leave me just like the others have. But at least I could spend a little time with her before I scared her away.