NaNoWriMo – Day 15 (11/15/2005)
Earl
I hear the door open and close, the little bell above it dinging its merry little ding. Except this morning it ain’t so merry. That’s what I get for spending the night sleeping—okay, passed out—on the floor behind the bar. I hear the bell, yea, but at the moment, I’m not about to do anything serious about it. It’s probably Barney, so I go back to washing my face.
The water is cold and splashing it repeatedly on my face is helping. Sort of. I should probably be drinking the water instead, but that seems like a little too much effort at the moment. Besides, I don’t know how long I’d be able to keep it down. Using the towel hanging off the side of the basin I wipe my face dry and go out into the bar to get Barney his first drink of the day. Part of me wants to join him.
“Mornin’ Barns,” I say as I come out of the back room. “Oh, sorry.”
There’s a man standing in the middle of the bar looking a little lost. He’s wearing a shirt and tie, but he looks a little … rumpled. He’s definitely not prepared for the kind of weather we’ve been having—rainy and a little on the cool side for the past few days. I’ve never seen him before.
“Can I help you?” I say to him, shaking him out of whatever trance he’s been in, just standing there in the middle of the bar staring off at the pool tables in the back. Maybe he’s an inspector? That would suck. The floor behind the bar is covered in last night’s remains—overflowed beer and bottle caps; a bucket of water—formerly ice—that’s been sitting stagnant for over a week; bits of cake and other food from the little party we threw for Barney last night. And, of course, my sleeping bag from last night.
He sorta just … looks at me, without saying anything. If he’s a goddamn inspector I’m in a load of crap. I could lose the bar. I’ve gotta figure—
“Morning,” he says, realising he’s no longer the only person in the room. I nod to him.
“Can I help you?”
I try and clear the cobwebs from my brain. Everything’s a little fuzzy and there’s something not quite right about this early morning stranger in my bar. I don’t particularly like surprises and changes in routine aren’t the greatest either. I like my simple life just the way it is and if one of these ‘big city inspectors’ thinks he can come in and just tell me how to run my bar, he’s got another think comin, that’s for sure.
He slowly turns and walks over the bar. As he’s coming, I tag a rag from the sink, rinse it and start wiping down the bar in front of this stranger. Outside I can hear people talking—two men—and they’re having an argument from the sound of things. The stranger sits down at the bar and just looks at me for second before asking, “Can I get a boilermaker and a glass of water, please?”
Who is this friggin guy? “I’m going to need to see some I.D. please,” I tell him, not actually believing it’s going to work.
“I.D.? What for? I’m obviously over twenty-one ….” There’s no doubt there, that’s for sure. I’d put him in his mid-thirties; married with two kids; a house in the ‘burbs probably, with a nice mortgage on it.
“Here’s the thing,” I tell him. “I need to know right now if you’re an inspector, because if you are and you don’t say anything it’s entrapment. All right?” He nods. “So what is it?”
He laughs. It’s a laugh I’ve heard before, just not from him. It’s the kind of laugh that says, ‘Is that right? That too, eh? So what the hell else is coming my way.’ This guy is definitely not an inspector and I can’t help but be a little relieved.
“Sorry, man,” I tell him. “You’re not an inspector, are you?”
His smile looks like his laugh sounded. It’s real, but there’s something else there too. “No, I’m not,” he says slowly. Everything about this guy seems slow … like he’s in shock or something. He probably doesn’t need a boilermaker, but I pull out the Scotch and pour a shot for him, then pull him a draught of ale. Finally, I pour him a glass of water from the tap gun and top it off with a piece of lemon left over from last night. I deliberately fish down to the bottom of the bowl, looking for a piece in decent shape. Luckily I find what I’m looking for.
“Sorry about the state of the place,” I tell him, putting first the water, then the pint, and finally the shot glass in front of him. “We had a bit of a party here last night after we closed; me and a few regulars were celebrating a buddy’s birthday and things got a little carried away. You know how it is.”
He nods, but doesn’t look up from the glasses on the bar in front of him. He just sits there, staring at them. I go back to clearing up behind the bar, but I keep a tab on him out of the corner of my eye. He glances up from the drinks and sees himself in the mirror, which gives him a bit of a start, but it brings his attention back into focus. He grabs the shot glass and drops it straight into the beer, which he quickly picks up and tips to his mouth. It takes him a full two minutes but he finishes the entire glass of beer, scotch and all, in one long sip.
“Pretty thirsty, I guess?”
He looks at me, still moving slowly but now his eyes have a little glaze over them. It’s a familiar site when you’re standing on this side of the bar.
“Yea, I guess so,” he says. “I guess I was.”
“Listen, buddy. Is there anything I can help you with? You seem a little … out there.”
“How so?”
“Well, to be honest with you, we don’t see too many people in here at all. Even less at half-eleven, you know? Only inspectors and professional drunks come in that early, but you don’t seem to fit either of those categories. At least not yet,” I add pointedly. “I haven’t seen you in here after work so I’m guessing you’re from out of town and the people you’re staying with have to work today?”
He shakes his head. That little smile again. “I just quit my job,” he says, a hint of a slur touching the ‘s.’ “They were gonna fire me, but I didn’t give ‘em the chance. Dirty bastards had no reason to fire me anyway. What the hell am I going to tell my wife?”
Married. Right on one account. “Aw shit, buddy, that’s rough. That’ll be six bucks for the booze.” Not very tactful, I know, but when guys like this start their sob stories you never know when it’s going to end. And two of us being without a job isn’t going to help the situation entirely. There are no free rides at Earl’s, this much I know for sure.
“Right,” he says, pushing back his stool and standing up from the bar. He pulls a twenty from his pocket and puts it on the bar. I swipe it up, turn around and walk to the till. “So where is it that you work?” I call over my shoulder. “Or used to work, I guess I should say.”
“Its a few blocks up the road, you probably don’t know it. I didn’t know about your place here until just a few minutes ago myself. I got to talking to the bus driver who was just finishing his shift. We decided to go for a drink, but he’s still outside talking to some other guy.”
He must be talking about Danny and Jimmy. Danny is a bus driver who probably shouldn’t be driving a bus. Not the brightest guy, you know? I’ve seen him back up that forty foot bus like it was a hatchback. At least he’s got that going for him. But just because a man can maneuver a bus like that don’t necessarily mean he can actually drive it, going forwards. Good ole Dan’s been in more hot water over there at the bus yard than just about any other driver who comes in to my place. I don’t know what it is about him … he just seems to be a shit magnet.
“You rode in Danny’s bus and you still agreed to go for a drink with him?” I ask. I’m teasing him, but this stranger doesn’t seem to get it. He’s not too swift himself—he just nods. “And then you left him out there with that brute, Jimmy?” He nods again.
“Let me tell you something about Danny and Jimmy,” I say. “Danny, well he’s not quite all there. Not quite right in the head, if you know what I mean. He means well and all, and damned if that guy couldn’t parallel park a bus in the middle of Queen Street during rush hour. But that don’t make him smart and it don’t necessarily make him honest either. You’d be smart to watch yourself with that one. Jimmy on the other hand … well Jimmy would just as soon break your hand as shake it when you put it out for him. I’m convinced that half the time—maybe more than half—he spends most of effort trying not to bust anybody wide open and start throwing their guts around. I’m serious too, buddy, don’t you laugh. He knows what prison is like and he don’t wanna go back—that’s the only thing stopping him right now. But if you’re new friend Danny isn’t careful, he may be just the reason Jimmy needs to break his streak. Hasn’t been to jail in the last six years, that one, but with him you just never know.”
“Hrm,” says the stranger, still staring blankly off into space. I don’t know if he actually heard a fuckin word I just said. Waste of oxygen, that was. The bell over the door dings again and in walks Danny.
“Dan-O!” I call to him. “Looks like you lost something,” I tell him.
“Hey! D’jou meet Simon there Earl?”
I shake my head no.
“Simon, Earl. Earl, Simon,” he tells us, nodding from one to the other and back again. We nod at him, then at each other.
“Simon,” I say.
“Earl.”
“So what can I get you boys this morning? We’ve already had a boilermaker, you want a pair this time?”
“Sure thing, sure thing! I’m up for that.” The stranger, Simon, nods yes as well and I set about making two more drinks. This is turning out to be a better morning than I thought it would be.
ADDED @ 7.53pm 11/15/2005
“C’mere Simon, my good man. Let’s sit at a table and leave this poor wretch of a bartender to fixin our drinks. What’choo say?”
Slow as ever the new guy, Simon, looks at Dan-O and gives his slow nod, getting up as he does. I just shake my head as I pour their shots, a little more generous than I probably should, but if these two sit and drink for a couple of hours, that could pay the electricity for just being open. I can make up for it later and start shorting their drinks if things get going along. They go off to one of the booths along the far wall. Right under the picture of Bill Barilko.
“Did everything go okay out … there?”
I hold my breath as I pour their draughts, craning to hear Danny’s response. Hearing him arguing with Jimmy wasn’t a good sign. I don’t want any trouble in the bar, especially with a guy like Jimmy. Jesus, I hope …
“Yea, s’fine. No problem-o, you know? I just tol’ him the situation and he like, kinda shrugs and says, you know, ‘no problem-o,’ ya know?
Yea right, ya frickin liar. I put all the drinks on a tray and walk around the bar and back before picking it up. If I tried to carry that tray with me the whole way, I’d lose it before I ever made it halfway. There’s still a pretty good chance I’m gonna drop it, but my chances are much better in a straight line with no tables or barstools in my way. When I pick it up I don’t catch it dead in the centre and almost lose it right off; I barely get it under control in time. It’s going great, despite my grogginess, until about halfway to the table. The door opens and that damn bell dings again. This time I swear that one of the shot glasses actually lifts off the tray but I miraculously catch it without spilling a drop. I walk straight to the table and put the tray down between the two men before daring to look at who’s come in the door. If it’s Jimmy I’m gonna have to ask one of these fine upstanding gentlemen to vacate my premises … and it sure as shit won’t be Jimmy I’m having that conversation with—
—but Jimmy it ain’t, and ain’t that a sweet relief? It’s our boy Barney.
“Hey Barnes,” I call out to him. “Wondered if you’d make it in today, after las’ night.”
“I wondered the same thing about you, boy, now get me a beer!”
What a guy. Laughing as I move the drinks off the tray and onto the table, I tell him, “Coming right up, good sir!” and snap to attention as I stand up. Marching like a soldier in training, with my tray stuffed under my arm, I make my way around the bar, not worried about spilling anything and needing an excuse to make Barney wait a few seconds longer than he’d prefer.
“Get to it boy, or I’m gonna find me a new watering hole to sip at.”
I look over at the table and see that I’ve got the audience I’m looking for. For the first time since he walked into this place the new guy, Simon—jesus, why can’t I remember his name?—has a smile on his face that doesn’t seem clouded by anything else. I’m gonna take it up a notch for him. He’s gettin the full treatment at Earl’s today, yes sir.
Taking out my table rag, I start randomly wiping a table. “Barnes,” I tell him, “you’ve been promising me that for the last four years. When are you gonna keep it?” I turn to Simon—finally!—and Dan-O to give them a wink, but they’re already looking to see what ol’ Barney’s going to do. I see both of their eyes widen at the same time I hear Barney’s chair, which he’s just finished pulling out in order to sit on it, push back in rather abruptly.
“I’m leaving right now, m’boy,” Barney says over his shoulder. “If that’s the way you feel about it, all you had to do was ask me to leave. No need for makin fun of me. ‘Specially the day after my birthday. Jesus Earl, thanks a lot.”
Oh no. “I was just joking Barnes,” I plead, running over to him as he heads back towards the door. “I was just putting on a show for this here newcomer, Barney, I swear. No harm intended.”
“No, no. A man only jokes about the things that are most true for him.”
What? “Gimme a break Barney, please? I’m hung over like a bastard, two pounds of shit in a one pound bag, you know? You can’t be feeling much better man, you were there, of course you know what I’m talking about. I was just playing with you Barney. Please, stay.”
He stops and turns to look at me. Then he looks around the room, surveying the whole place, looking at it, at my place, with scorn. Like I haven’t treated him like King Fly on Turd Mountain? Of course I have.
“I ain’t gonna beg you, Barnesy. I’m telling ya now, one time, I was only joking. I’d appreciate it if you’d stick around.”
“You hear that boys? As you and God as my witness, I never thought I’d hear Earl sayin he needed or wanted something from someone else except to stop throwing pool balls when things get really going. And now he’s asking me to stay.” Turning back to look at me he concedes, “I’ll stay, but on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“I get preferential treatment around here. Like I’m somebody instead of nobody.”
“You got it,” I say. “King Fly it is!”
“That’s it—” he turns away to leave, but I grab him by the collar and pull him back into the bar. ‘Twist my rubber arm,’ we used to say.
“First one’s on me.” It’s Simon calling from the table. “Why don’t you come and join us?”
Today’s word count: 2877
Cumulative word count: 22,919
I hear the door open and close, the little bell above it dinging its merry little ding. Except this morning it ain’t so merry. That’s what I get for spending the night sleeping—okay, passed out—on the floor behind the bar. I hear the bell, yea, but at the moment, I’m not about to do anything serious about it. It’s probably Barney, so I go back to washing my face.
The water is cold and splashing it repeatedly on my face is helping. Sort of. I should probably be drinking the water instead, but that seems like a little too much effort at the moment. Besides, I don’t know how long I’d be able to keep it down. Using the towel hanging off the side of the basin I wipe my face dry and go out into the bar to get Barney his first drink of the day. Part of me wants to join him.
“Mornin’ Barns,” I say as I come out of the back room. “Oh, sorry.”
There’s a man standing in the middle of the bar looking a little lost. He’s wearing a shirt and tie, but he looks a little … rumpled. He’s definitely not prepared for the kind of weather we’ve been having—rainy and a little on the cool side for the past few days. I’ve never seen him before.
“Can I help you?” I say to him, shaking him out of whatever trance he’s been in, just standing there in the middle of the bar staring off at the pool tables in the back. Maybe he’s an inspector? That would suck. The floor behind the bar is covered in last night’s remains—overflowed beer and bottle caps; a bucket of water—formerly ice—that’s been sitting stagnant for over a week; bits of cake and other food from the little party we threw for Barney last night. And, of course, my sleeping bag from last night.
He sorta just … looks at me, without saying anything. If he’s a goddamn inspector I’m in a load of crap. I could lose the bar. I’ve gotta figure—
“Morning,” he says, realising he’s no longer the only person in the room. I nod to him.
“Can I help you?”
I try and clear the cobwebs from my brain. Everything’s a little fuzzy and there’s something not quite right about this early morning stranger in my bar. I don’t particularly like surprises and changes in routine aren’t the greatest either. I like my simple life just the way it is and if one of these ‘big city inspectors’ thinks he can come in and just tell me how to run my bar, he’s got another think comin, that’s for sure.
He slowly turns and walks over the bar. As he’s coming, I tag a rag from the sink, rinse it and start wiping down the bar in front of this stranger. Outside I can hear people talking—two men—and they’re having an argument from the sound of things. The stranger sits down at the bar and just looks at me for second before asking, “Can I get a boilermaker and a glass of water, please?”
Who is this friggin guy? “I’m going to need to see some I.D. please,” I tell him, not actually believing it’s going to work.
“I.D.? What for? I’m obviously over twenty-one ….” There’s no doubt there, that’s for sure. I’d put him in his mid-thirties; married with two kids; a house in the ‘burbs probably, with a nice mortgage on it.
“Here’s the thing,” I tell him. “I need to know right now if you’re an inspector, because if you are and you don’t say anything it’s entrapment. All right?” He nods. “So what is it?”
He laughs. It’s a laugh I’ve heard before, just not from him. It’s the kind of laugh that says, ‘Is that right? That too, eh? So what the hell else is coming my way.’ This guy is definitely not an inspector and I can’t help but be a little relieved.
“Sorry, man,” I tell him. “You’re not an inspector, are you?”
His smile looks like his laugh sounded. It’s real, but there’s something else there too. “No, I’m not,” he says slowly. Everything about this guy seems slow … like he’s in shock or something. He probably doesn’t need a boilermaker, but I pull out the Scotch and pour a shot for him, then pull him a draught of ale. Finally, I pour him a glass of water from the tap gun and top it off with a piece of lemon left over from last night. I deliberately fish down to the bottom of the bowl, looking for a piece in decent shape. Luckily I find what I’m looking for.
“Sorry about the state of the place,” I tell him, putting first the water, then the pint, and finally the shot glass in front of him. “We had a bit of a party here last night after we closed; me and a few regulars were celebrating a buddy’s birthday and things got a little carried away. You know how it is.”
He nods, but doesn’t look up from the glasses on the bar in front of him. He just sits there, staring at them. I go back to clearing up behind the bar, but I keep a tab on him out of the corner of my eye. He glances up from the drinks and sees himself in the mirror, which gives him a bit of a start, but it brings his attention back into focus. He grabs the shot glass and drops it straight into the beer, which he quickly picks up and tips to his mouth. It takes him a full two minutes but he finishes the entire glass of beer, scotch and all, in one long sip.
“Pretty thirsty, I guess?”
He looks at me, still moving slowly but now his eyes have a little glaze over them. It’s a familiar site when you’re standing on this side of the bar.
“Yea, I guess so,” he says. “I guess I was.”
“Listen, buddy. Is there anything I can help you with? You seem a little … out there.”
“How so?”
“Well, to be honest with you, we don’t see too many people in here at all. Even less at half-eleven, you know? Only inspectors and professional drunks come in that early, but you don’t seem to fit either of those categories. At least not yet,” I add pointedly. “I haven’t seen you in here after work so I’m guessing you’re from out of town and the people you’re staying with have to work today?”
He shakes his head. That little smile again. “I just quit my job,” he says, a hint of a slur touching the ‘s.’ “They were gonna fire me, but I didn’t give ‘em the chance. Dirty bastards had no reason to fire me anyway. What the hell am I going to tell my wife?”
Married. Right on one account. “Aw shit, buddy, that’s rough. That’ll be six bucks for the booze.” Not very tactful, I know, but when guys like this start their sob stories you never know when it’s going to end. And two of us being without a job isn’t going to help the situation entirely. There are no free rides at Earl’s, this much I know for sure.
“Right,” he says, pushing back his stool and standing up from the bar. He pulls a twenty from his pocket and puts it on the bar. I swipe it up, turn around and walk to the till. “So where is it that you work?” I call over my shoulder. “Or used to work, I guess I should say.”
“Its a few blocks up the road, you probably don’t know it. I didn’t know about your place here until just a few minutes ago myself. I got to talking to the bus driver who was just finishing his shift. We decided to go for a drink, but he’s still outside talking to some other guy.”
He must be talking about Danny and Jimmy. Danny is a bus driver who probably shouldn’t be driving a bus. Not the brightest guy, you know? I’ve seen him back up that forty foot bus like it was a hatchback. At least he’s got that going for him. But just because a man can maneuver a bus like that don’t necessarily mean he can actually drive it, going forwards. Good ole Dan’s been in more hot water over there at the bus yard than just about any other driver who comes in to my place. I don’t know what it is about him … he just seems to be a shit magnet.
“You rode in Danny’s bus and you still agreed to go for a drink with him?” I ask. I’m teasing him, but this stranger doesn’t seem to get it. He’s not too swift himself—he just nods. “And then you left him out there with that brute, Jimmy?” He nods again.
“Let me tell you something about Danny and Jimmy,” I say. “Danny, well he’s not quite all there. Not quite right in the head, if you know what I mean. He means well and all, and damned if that guy couldn’t parallel park a bus in the middle of Queen Street during rush hour. But that don’t make him smart and it don’t necessarily make him honest either. You’d be smart to watch yourself with that one. Jimmy on the other hand … well Jimmy would just as soon break your hand as shake it when you put it out for him. I’m convinced that half the time—maybe more than half—he spends most of effort trying not to bust anybody wide open and start throwing their guts around. I’m serious too, buddy, don’t you laugh. He knows what prison is like and he don’t wanna go back—that’s the only thing stopping him right now. But if you’re new friend Danny isn’t careful, he may be just the reason Jimmy needs to break his streak. Hasn’t been to jail in the last six years, that one, but with him you just never know.”
“Hrm,” says the stranger, still staring blankly off into space. I don’t know if he actually heard a fuckin word I just said. Waste of oxygen, that was. The bell over the door dings again and in walks Danny.
“Dan-O!” I call to him. “Looks like you lost something,” I tell him.
“Hey! D’jou meet Simon there Earl?”
I shake my head no.
“Simon, Earl. Earl, Simon,” he tells us, nodding from one to the other and back again. We nod at him, then at each other.
“Simon,” I say.
“Earl.”
“So what can I get you boys this morning? We’ve already had a boilermaker, you want a pair this time?”
“Sure thing, sure thing! I’m up for that.” The stranger, Simon, nods yes as well and I set about making two more drinks. This is turning out to be a better morning than I thought it would be.
ADDED @ 7.53pm 11/15/2005
“C’mere Simon, my good man. Let’s sit at a table and leave this poor wretch of a bartender to fixin our drinks. What’choo say?”
Slow as ever the new guy, Simon, looks at Dan-O and gives his slow nod, getting up as he does. I just shake my head as I pour their shots, a little more generous than I probably should, but if these two sit and drink for a couple of hours, that could pay the electricity for just being open. I can make up for it later and start shorting their drinks if things get going along. They go off to one of the booths along the far wall. Right under the picture of Bill Barilko.
“Did everything go okay out … there?”
I hold my breath as I pour their draughts, craning to hear Danny’s response. Hearing him arguing with Jimmy wasn’t a good sign. I don’t want any trouble in the bar, especially with a guy like Jimmy. Jesus, I hope …
“Yea, s’fine. No problem-o, you know? I just tol’ him the situation and he like, kinda shrugs and says, you know, ‘no problem-o,’ ya know?
Yea right, ya frickin liar. I put all the drinks on a tray and walk around the bar and back before picking it up. If I tried to carry that tray with me the whole way, I’d lose it before I ever made it halfway. There’s still a pretty good chance I’m gonna drop it, but my chances are much better in a straight line with no tables or barstools in my way. When I pick it up I don’t catch it dead in the centre and almost lose it right off; I barely get it under control in time. It’s going great, despite my grogginess, until about halfway to the table. The door opens and that damn bell dings again. This time I swear that one of the shot glasses actually lifts off the tray but I miraculously catch it without spilling a drop. I walk straight to the table and put the tray down between the two men before daring to look at who’s come in the door. If it’s Jimmy I’m gonna have to ask one of these fine upstanding gentlemen to vacate my premises … and it sure as shit won’t be Jimmy I’m having that conversation with—
—but Jimmy it ain’t, and ain’t that a sweet relief? It’s our boy Barney.
“Hey Barnes,” I call out to him. “Wondered if you’d make it in today, after las’ night.”
“I wondered the same thing about you, boy, now get me a beer!”
What a guy. Laughing as I move the drinks off the tray and onto the table, I tell him, “Coming right up, good sir!” and snap to attention as I stand up. Marching like a soldier in training, with my tray stuffed under my arm, I make my way around the bar, not worried about spilling anything and needing an excuse to make Barney wait a few seconds longer than he’d prefer.
“Get to it boy, or I’m gonna find me a new watering hole to sip at.”
I look over at the table and see that I’ve got the audience I’m looking for. For the first time since he walked into this place the new guy, Simon—jesus, why can’t I remember his name?—has a smile on his face that doesn’t seem clouded by anything else. I’m gonna take it up a notch for him. He’s gettin the full treatment at Earl’s today, yes sir.
Taking out my table rag, I start randomly wiping a table. “Barnes,” I tell him, “you’ve been promising me that for the last four years. When are you gonna keep it?” I turn to Simon—finally!—and Dan-O to give them a wink, but they’re already looking to see what ol’ Barney’s going to do. I see both of their eyes widen at the same time I hear Barney’s chair, which he’s just finished pulling out in order to sit on it, push back in rather abruptly.
“I’m leaving right now, m’boy,” Barney says over his shoulder. “If that’s the way you feel about it, all you had to do was ask me to leave. No need for makin fun of me. ‘Specially the day after my birthday. Jesus Earl, thanks a lot.”
Oh no. “I was just joking Barnes,” I plead, running over to him as he heads back towards the door. “I was just putting on a show for this here newcomer, Barney, I swear. No harm intended.”
“No, no. A man only jokes about the things that are most true for him.”
What? “Gimme a break Barney, please? I’m hung over like a bastard, two pounds of shit in a one pound bag, you know? You can’t be feeling much better man, you were there, of course you know what I’m talking about. I was just playing with you Barney. Please, stay.”
He stops and turns to look at me. Then he looks around the room, surveying the whole place, looking at it, at my place, with scorn. Like I haven’t treated him like King Fly on Turd Mountain? Of course I have.
“I ain’t gonna beg you, Barnesy. I’m telling ya now, one time, I was only joking. I’d appreciate it if you’d stick around.”
“You hear that boys? As you and God as my witness, I never thought I’d hear Earl sayin he needed or wanted something from someone else except to stop throwing pool balls when things get really going. And now he’s asking me to stay.” Turning back to look at me he concedes, “I’ll stay, but on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“I get preferential treatment around here. Like I’m somebody instead of nobody.”
“You got it,” I say. “King Fly it is!”
“That’s it—” he turns away to leave, but I grab him by the collar and pull him back into the bar. ‘Twist my rubber arm,’ we used to say.
“First one’s on me.” It’s Simon calling from the table. “Why don’t you come and join us?”
Today’s word count: 2877
Cumulative word count: 22,919
posted by Paul Keetch at 7:49 AM
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