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One Day At The Watering Hole-2

By Lew Sethics

“‘Scuse me mam.  But if I told you I admired your body, would you hold it against me?”

She looked at me like I was God, and she was an Atheist.

“What I mean is, is that a mirror in your pocket?  I mean like, cuz I can see my face in your pants!”

She stared at me and wavered, attention spanned. 

“I mean, where ARE you goin’, lookin’ so good?” and kopped my best James Dean lean, whatever that is, with my three-quarter length black leather coat and slightly mismatched genuine Italian shoes screamin’ I’m probably a gangster, but my workies and a-shirt sayin’ I’m a grunt.

“You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog” she said and threw back a double of something clear, then chugged half a beer, then took two red and a black somethings  and some white crosses while hitting a fat blunt and snorting a line then a few eye drops followed by an inhaler, some nuts, then a handi-wipe across the face, with special attention to the eyes, and another swig on the beer.

“I think I’m in love.” I told her. 

“I ain’t goin’ out no guy got funny shoes” she said, and threw back a double of something clear, then chugged half a beer, then hit a fat blunt and snorting a line then a few eye drops, some nuts, then a handi-wipe across the face,  and another swig on the beer.

“What are ya talkin’ about?  It’s a war wound, I got hit in the foot!  These are special shoes!” I lied, my specialty.

“Those are mismatched shoes!  You might as well be homeless!” she yelled and threw back a double of something clear, then chugged half a beer, then took some white crosses while hitting a fat blunt and snorting a line then a few eye drops followed by an inhaler, then a handi-wipe across the face, and another swig on the beer.

“C’mon!  I’m a war hero!  I lost some foot in Desert Storm!”

I pulled out a phat wadd of fifties (really a wadd of ones with two fifties and some tens around them) and tossed a fifty on the bar, though not far enough to be construed as to be actually paying for anything, but the frail thought I was generously sponsoring her inhuman capacities, and as long as the bartender didn’t look too close at the fifty if he did happen to pick it up, I might even get some real money in change tonight.

“So you wanna show me your war wounds tonight, eh jonny?” she said and threw back a double of something clear, then chugged half a beer, and fell unconcious to the floor.

The bartender took the fifty and looked at it close.  Then looked at me.

I raise my hands like “I didn’t do it.”

“That was her money.” I said, and was gone like yesterday.

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