Reflections on Fourteen Feet of Polished Mahogany.
Hey, what can I get you?
Whats your name?
Where are ya from?
Really.
So tell me kid, why are you here? Not tryin to be rude ya understand, just want to know your story.
Me? Well I know why I'm here, I work here, I live here, this is my place, these are my people.
This over here is Draft Labatt and a shot. He was driving the car the night a drunk in a pickup plowed into it and killed his wife and two year old child, doesn't remember it at all, walked away without even a scratch.
Double Bushmills over there got to watch his closest friend from highschool fall into a log peeler down at the mill a few years ago, (they had to pick him up with a sponge).
Jackie D. on your other side worked on the row at Quenton, got to help a few choke before he'd seen enough, called it quits and crawled in here.
Early Times neat, down at the end got sent off to bumfuckistan at age eighteen, only three quarters of him made it back. Sort of like Tony Bennett left his heart in San Francisco, well he left his leg in the bush.
Jonny Walker in the corner is a good cop, a descent deputy in a small, good-ole-boy department, still having trouble reading between the lines and speaking the unspoken law.
You'll get to meet Wild Turkey straight in a bit, he's in the john tossing it up, got snatched by a stranger in a campground when he was seven, only had him for a couple hours, won't even talk about it unless he's completely hammered.
Smirnoff and tonic will be around in a few, hasn't slept since 1941, was there the day the ships went down, has never forgiven, has never forgotten.
Meyers and Coke hasn't been in for quite a while, probably steer clear of her till your sure where you stand, got raped by her stepdad when she was thirteen, made a living as a lot lizard for a while, even if she doesn't have anything contagious she'll cut you in your sleep if she decides she doesn't like you.
Don't make any loud noises near Kesslers and water (he's the one who just walked in), was working his way through college as a night shift convenience store clerk, got held up, gave 'em the money like he was supposed to, and got two in the chest for it. He lived, but now he's packin, and jumpy as hell.
Dry Martini is sort of a strange duck. Blew into town about four years ago, rarely talks, always pays cash, just sits and drinks, and occasionally plays a song on the juke box. "Crazy" if your interested, the Patsie Cline version, the only song he plays on that damn thing, you'd think he'd heard it enough by now.
Glenlivet on the rocks works in search and rescue, has been to all the big ones, Mexico City, Northridge, Oklahoma City, WTC. He was a cop before, got shot in the back responding to a 911 call. Don't ever say something smells bad if he's around, he'll be sure to tell you about something he's smelled that was worse.
Whitfields just never got out, was going to make it big, but ended up sticking round here when his folks got sick from drinking the well water, spent eight years taking care of them while they died, never even got an apology from the mining company that dumped the chemicals out there.
Old Crow comes in every night now, didn't see much of him before his wife died, but now he's a regular. He's the one that helped the cops catch that freak a few years ago. He was renting a property to this guy, went by to check on why the rent hadn't been paid since October, and found three human torsos in the wood shed.
We get the others in here too, the ones who are just passing through, just slumming, just trying to soak up a bit of rural Americana, trying to convince themselves that they're tough. We get all kinds here, take all comers, not a really judgmental crowd in here.
So tell me kid, why are you here?
What can I get you?
Whats your name?
Whats your name?
Where are ya from?
Really.
So tell me kid, why are you here? Not tryin to be rude ya understand, just want to know your story.
Me? Well I know why I'm here, I work here, I live here, this is my place, these are my people.
This over here is Draft Labatt and a shot. He was driving the car the night a drunk in a pickup plowed into it and killed his wife and two year old child, doesn't remember it at all, walked away without even a scratch.
Double Bushmills over there got to watch his closest friend from highschool fall into a log peeler down at the mill a few years ago, (they had to pick him up with a sponge).
Jackie D. on your other side worked on the row at Quenton, got to help a few choke before he'd seen enough, called it quits and crawled in here.
Early Times neat, down at the end got sent off to bumfuckistan at age eighteen, only three quarters of him made it back. Sort of like Tony Bennett left his heart in San Francisco, well he left his leg in the bush.
Jonny Walker in the corner is a good cop, a descent deputy in a small, good-ole-boy department, still having trouble reading between the lines and speaking the unspoken law.
You'll get to meet Wild Turkey straight in a bit, he's in the john tossing it up, got snatched by a stranger in a campground when he was seven, only had him for a couple hours, won't even talk about it unless he's completely hammered.
Smirnoff and tonic will be around in a few, hasn't slept since 1941, was there the day the ships went down, has never forgiven, has never forgotten.
Meyers and Coke hasn't been in for quite a while, probably steer clear of her till your sure where you stand, got raped by her stepdad when she was thirteen, made a living as a lot lizard for a while, even if she doesn't have anything contagious she'll cut you in your sleep if she decides she doesn't like you.
Don't make any loud noises near Kesslers and water (he's the one who just walked in), was working his way through college as a night shift convenience store clerk, got held up, gave 'em the money like he was supposed to, and got two in the chest for it. He lived, but now he's packin, and jumpy as hell.
Dry Martini is sort of a strange duck. Blew into town about four years ago, rarely talks, always pays cash, just sits and drinks, and occasionally plays a song on the juke box. "Crazy" if your interested, the Patsie Cline version, the only song he plays on that damn thing, you'd think he'd heard it enough by now.
Glenlivet on the rocks works in search and rescue, has been to all the big ones, Mexico City, Northridge, Oklahoma City, WTC. He was a cop before, got shot in the back responding to a 911 call. Don't ever say something smells bad if he's around, he'll be sure to tell you about something he's smelled that was worse.
Whitfields just never got out, was going to make it big, but ended up sticking round here when his folks got sick from drinking the well water, spent eight years taking care of them while they died, never even got an apology from the mining company that dumped the chemicals out there.
Old Crow comes in every night now, didn't see much of him before his wife died, but now he's a regular. He's the one that helped the cops catch that freak a few years ago. He was renting a property to this guy, went by to check on why the rent hadn't been paid since October, and found three human torsos in the wood shed.
We get the others in here too, the ones who are just passing through, just slumming, just trying to soak up a bit of rural Americana, trying to convince themselves that they're tough. We get all kinds here, take all comers, not a really judgmental crowd in here.
So tell me kid, why are you here?
What can I get you?
Whats your name?
posted by Murph | 11:21 PM
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