5.
If I could meet the person who built my bank I would buy them a beer for building it right next to the bar. I knew I shouldn't be spending money on alcohol, but I really needed a drink.
"Sick, yesterday?" the barkeep asked as I sat down. It was just past five, and the place was nearly deserted.
"My grandfather died," I said, feeling more humiliated than depressed.
The barkeep responded with, "What'll it be?"
"Same as always.... Man, I always drink the same thing. My god damn life is always the same...." the bartender wandered away as I continued muttering. As I muttered my eyes sank slowly downward until I was staring down my reflection in the bartop, and it stared back up at me, ugly and distorted. After a while my concentration was broken by a glass clunking down in the middle of my duplicate's face.
"How much?" I asked, looking back up at the bartender.
"Same as always," he said. I tried to detect a sneer or a touch of irony in his voice, but he was as expressionless and inscrutable as ever. I laid out several bills and told him to keep the change.
With a few more drinks the evening began to unfold. By seven the bar was hopping. The only real empty place was a small radius around the so-called pirate who was amusing himself by blowing smoke rings. Each time he blew a particularly good one he'd laugh hysterically and drink from an elaborate ivory beer stein he liked to carry with him. By eight the crowd was the largest I could recall seeing at the place, and I could feel the air pressing in with an almost ominous feeling. Outside, light rain began to sweep the window panes, as if God was underlining my thoughts. And after a week--no, a month--like I had just had, I couldn't help but wonder if some deity had taken a disliking to me.
"How the hell are you supposed to deal with that?" I asked the nearest person, a nervous-looking older guy sipping a dark beer.
"What?" He leaned forward.
"What's up with all these people?" I repeated, waving my arm vaguely at the crowd.
Before he could answer a crash silenced everyone. I turned to see that the door had been kicked in, nearly off its hinges. Through the doorway walked the white-haired bearded man from last week--bathrobe, shotgun, and all. This time, however, he was carrying an armfull of crumpled bills that reached the tip of his beard. He parted the crowd as Moses parted the Red Sea and marched to the bar as the rest of us looked on. Everyone watched with growing interest as the man dropped the heap of money onto the bartop. Several twenties floated to the floor.
"Listen up, mortals!" He shouted in a loud, gruff voice. "I'm in a good mood today, so I'm going to buy you all as much alcohol as you can drink." The crowd's muttering returned, with an excited edge to it. "And the last person standing," he paused dramatically. "...wins a prize."
For a moment the conversation flared again as bar goers debated. The man began to look annoyed. "Come on, let's get this thing going," he said. "Everyone! Raise a glass."
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"Sick, yesterday?" the barkeep asked as I sat down. It was just past five, and the place was nearly deserted.
"My grandfather died," I said, feeling more humiliated than depressed.
The barkeep responded with, "What'll it be?"
"Same as always.... Man, I always drink the same thing. My god damn life is always the same...." the bartender wandered away as I continued muttering. As I muttered my eyes sank slowly downward until I was staring down my reflection in the bartop, and it stared back up at me, ugly and distorted. After a while my concentration was broken by a glass clunking down in the middle of my duplicate's face.
"How much?" I asked, looking back up at the bartender.
"Same as always," he said. I tried to detect a sneer or a touch of irony in his voice, but he was as expressionless and inscrutable as ever. I laid out several bills and told him to keep the change.
With a few more drinks the evening began to unfold. By seven the bar was hopping. The only real empty place was a small radius around the so-called pirate who was amusing himself by blowing smoke rings. Each time he blew a particularly good one he'd laugh hysterically and drink from an elaborate ivory beer stein he liked to carry with him. By eight the crowd was the largest I could recall seeing at the place, and I could feel the air pressing in with an almost ominous feeling. Outside, light rain began to sweep the window panes, as if God was underlining my thoughts. And after a week--no, a month--like I had just had, I couldn't help but wonder if some deity had taken a disliking to me.
"How the hell are you supposed to deal with that?" I asked the nearest person, a nervous-looking older guy sipping a dark beer.
"What?" He leaned forward.
"What's up with all these people?" I repeated, waving my arm vaguely at the crowd.
Before he could answer a crash silenced everyone. I turned to see that the door had been kicked in, nearly off its hinges. Through the doorway walked the white-haired bearded man from last week--bathrobe, shotgun, and all. This time, however, he was carrying an armfull of crumpled bills that reached the tip of his beard. He parted the crowd as Moses parted the Red Sea and marched to the bar as the rest of us looked on. Everyone watched with growing interest as the man dropped the heap of money onto the bartop. Several twenties floated to the floor.
"Listen up, mortals!" He shouted in a loud, gruff voice. "I'm in a good mood today, so I'm going to buy you all as much alcohol as you can drink." The crowd's muttering returned, with an excited edge to it. "And the last person standing," he paused dramatically. "...wins a prize."
For a moment the conversation flared again as bar goers debated. The man began to look annoyed. "Come on, let's get this thing going," he said. "Everyone! Raise a glass."
PREVIOUS | NEXT
© 2006 Ian Blake & Marshall Scott
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