The room bopped along. Reverend Al filled the byways of the barroom with his characteristic slow syncopated hesitation, followed by “Mr. Thrill is Gone.“The old farts at the far end of the bar were busy thinking about their limp dicks as they played cat and mouse with the charmingly slender Chiquita the management had hired for the specific task of loosening their money from their pockets. Nothing had been figured out to any level of completion further back by “Mr Sixty-three.” Life to him seemed like some foolish impossible to figure gambit where time devoted was time wasted. Nothing new there. Words were cheap, promises were more abundant and faces were so prevalent as to be impossible to recall five minutes after their last moment before departure. What was lasting at this point? Family was a fact now departed into fiction. Existence mere triviality salted with the raw meat of animal want. It was past five, maybe six when the loud mouth group of suckers arrived. They had come here to enjoy what was touted as the finest cuisine in ten blocks. There he sat nearly nudged into rabid discontent as usual by their rambunctious presence. Or maybe by the act of tangible facts offered by their kind of world that long ago had offered naught but unfulfillable expectations? There he was caught short again, tears in his eyes, waiting for that sweet saccharine fiction of an impossible ‘her‘.
The first glass of beer had soured now having been transferred by a bucket brigade of incremental sips down into the silent soul’s gullet. His eyes travel had narrowed into twin headlights on high beam turning down a dark dusty trail. This was a land of rules. Rule after meaningless arbitrary rule conveniently devised to keep all squares positively genuflecting for their short eternities. The blustering idiots at his back were a text book example of ‘too stupid‘ in that regard. He looked over at the prancing angel behind the bar with her shapely slim hips, perfect sweaty tits, and ‘come hither’ smile.
“Why weren’t you married now with a couple of kids and husband who spent each day at work waiting to come how to the warm muse of your loving arms?” he pondered to himself as he took her in from his remote turret.
A question no other man who had the pretense to refer to himself as same would dare ponder. No, they could all pantomime an ‘old vinegar Joe‘ like expression and feign one dissatisfaction after another to claim her undivided attention for an instant or two. This bad attitude seemed evenly spread about the room as the holidays had once again descended and reminded the lot that they were no longer in the category of Spring’s most eligible chickens. Everyone in the room saw him freely nodding to his own silent commentaries occasionally commenting in whispers in kind to the effect that he was another poor old sot seemingly long ago lost. Nuts to the point of inattention to the beauty as she glided back and forth past him to extinguish yet another mythical blaze of faux infamy with a refill. All the old R & B standards kept watch in the jets stream flowing easily above their heads. This age whee everything deemed ‘WHITE’ had been placed on the official endangered species list. Not by the ‘too stupid to tie their own shoelaces‘ crowd to the right mind you. But, by several lame duck generations whose only path to glory was some unseen ‘International Jew’s‘ money collection wet dream. The reticule was on them all, laser dots flashing across every forehead. No one dare say it, admit it, but knew in that secret place where the audio TV cam couldn’t hear them whisper it from the gnarly curl of tight lips.
But tonight, these frisky suburban bound mother fuckers couldn’t care. Hot gumbo and short ribs bathed in a tasty piquant sauce was on its way. The server women carrying little plates of same in both hands to the short traverse of the resident madam of the booze bottles in courtly rhythm of perpetually hurried steps. This would-be Dalton gang could give a poop or two, of course. Too caught up in the splendor of their group dynamic of pounding on the bar for constant attention garnering each other’s momentary respect by virtue of loud rankling room aggravating guffaws. They could be considered louder than life but in a manner that a hot air balloon could exhibit on the verge of quick unexpected possible deflation. Every gravely utterance bravely born, a perfect illustration of the concept of vacuous empty banality. “So how’s that ole fart-hood hanging on ye these days sports?”, he longed to say. For all their bluster, none of them would dare venture to put forth a treatise of what ailed them deep down. Just a bunch of cowards bereft of all beyond the solid ‘World of the Most Forgettable Sports‘ driven mantra of “ra ra ra..” The television there in the multiplicity of several big screens to remind all that there lurked in the wings women who were ready and able to replace them. What they thought they were doing beyond marking time in some meaningless shit hole existence meant nothing anymore.
Indeed, what WAS all that important anymore? Easy vocalizing of some momentary celebrities’ last name not a valid display of wordily self-importance. The surpass appearance of a normally absent Asian face preparing to have the last laugh on the Hawaiian golf show, his presence signaling the fact of three billion of his fellows with more spending power on their bankcards. What if everyone he knew was busy dying the silent brooding man thought? It seemed to be no longer comfortable to be away from his one tenant nursing home anymore. At least until that last final fatal moment of dispossession set him free into the unloving land of strangers. All he could think of anymore was serving another hot meal and mopping up the poop ungraciously bestowed upon the porcelain. The level of volume of the catchy old tunes had degenerated into the all too expectably expected ‘mooga-wooga’ of Negro inspired L.A. pop tune old school cowbell unsubtleties. These newly crowned ‘new niggers‘ bunched up below with their institutionally blackened UNESCO mandated faces feigning the last pitch of genetically wrought whiteness. Indistinguishable now from a Sanhedrin inspired version of the lumpen proletariat as set down in stone by some modern day Caiaphas. It was time at this stage to take on the look and demeanor of another disposable martyr. A definite, “why me” moment. The hint of an aroma of recently chewed bad cigars, stale cigarettes stinking forth yelling, “cheap, cheap cheap” with endlessly more cheap to come.
The bartender had a daughter it seemed. A Mexican, maybe from here, but probably not. Easter being essentially the same on TV’s worldwide, they would share the holiday watching the same drivel a thousand mile apart. A good enough reason by the present standards of society to continue on with this shitty job of taking unwarranted abuse for more close up leering well-paid tip based affection. A shitty existence, just the same. It was still referred to as a ‘free country‘ after all. A good place to live out your store bought off-the-shelf fantasies. The musical ‘hump hump’ on high exacerbating things in a predictable, “give me another drink baby”, fashion. But then, unexpectedly an occasional ray of sunshine spread by an age old voice now gone to the respectable end of mold and dust. A recognized phantom who could sing in such a manner to melt the hardest heart. Her mercurial expression unnoticed by all but him in this mentally fatal interlude of lost awareness. Like a porpoise she was coming up from sounding the depths for a breath of fresh air. The gorillas beat their chest. Like all good monkeys lost in their gin, they were now dreaming out loud past their current meal expectant of a sound fart and a good shit back at their nests. Now docile as doves bested by this ritual of brain bathing alcoholic identity destroying self-destruction. Another useless cleansing by poison of the pent up evil inside that would only follow same out the door of a well-watered tortured soul. A useless experience.
“I fucked my old man over a crappy monaural tape deck”, one lamented without apparent purpose. “. . . don’t take me alive!”, hooted another one next to him. “My old man was always with me . . .”, he sloshed to himself. “Even on that last final fatal Sunday when I couldn’t find the time to visit at the hospital”, he further mumbled. “That was the week before he died.” The room fell unexpectedly silent. The man’s head bowed down as if the whole of his forehead had been ruthlessly branded. Beset by the simple legend proclaiming unreadable guilt for a sin of indifference. Beset in a similar manner as this society at large who had come to a similar ill fate as a result of the patent blindness of an immoral apathy precluding any risky vulnerability that might be inherent in the real possibility of appreciating their lives. Each was too busy following along within the strictures of unspoken regulations attendant to their respective social definitions of making that temporal difference within their assigned fates. Tough deep within their heart of hearts, many of them knew differently but never the less, followed along in total compliance. A perfect marriage of inconvenient and unbreakable vows it seemed.