Hammerhead
He was
having a tough time
dealing with
reality on Quail
Street in
search of the ideal
Public
phone. That's what he
did days
when he wasn't pounding
nails or in
the bar showing Bob
"A roofer's
hammer, see there's
a difference
between hammer heads
and the
heft. If there's one
thing I
know, it's hammers."
Bob is as
regular as a bar stool
and not too
fond of mouthy people
from outer
space says:
"Tell it to someone who cares.
What I know
is beer and I like
enjoying
mine without being bothered
by
morons."
Hammerhead
sort of realizes that was
a cue for an
exit line, says:
"I'll be
back, just got to make
a quick
call."
"Don't
hurry." Was Bob's reply
and I had to
agree, Hammerhead had
the
personality of someone terminal
on Thorazine
who admitted to being
incredibly
weird but essentially
harmless.
That didn't make him any
more
enjoyable to have around.
He played
with the Bell dial
and as we
watched, his eyes glazed
over like
pottery cooking near
the
end. I debated asking him
if it was
bad news but decided
against
it.
March
Madness
I guess if
Alice fell down
the rabbit's
hole following
a March Hare
today, she'd
wake up in a
bar like this one
with an
extra large screen
showing NCAA
playoff games
that would
never seem to end.
She'd be
sitting at the bar
nursing a
LIT, slowly sinking
into a
narcotic state,
the Cheshire
smile of the bartender
nearly
invisible inside
enveloping
cigarette smoke.
Soon, this
dude from Brooklyn
will post up
at the bar
with a stool
and throw it
hard over
the wood taking
with it
bottles, lights and
a mirror not
even Alice would
care to step
through.
That's one
March hare who
wouldn't get
too far running
down Quail
Street with an:
off with his
head call,
to the cops
on their radios
and there
would be no one,
not even a
lawyer to save him.
The Helen
of Troy Cocktail
There was
something about her
that
suggested she was used
to men
licking the grit from between
her toes
and kissing the rings on her fingers,
even when
they were plastic settings
with
glass stones. It was
almost
impossible imagining that she was
ever a
virgin, though she must have
been one,
for awhile. Men
were
willing
to lay down and die for
a few
words with her at the end
of any
give night, although, mornings
after,
she left them dried out
and
barren as if something vital
inside
had been extracted and lost,
something
so essential they were tied
to the
memory of her forever even if
they
couldn't exactly remember why.
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