Day CLXXXVII

Another Drink, Another Smoke

     “Hiya doing, me boy?” he asked.

     I managed a smile, and nervously lit another smoke with the one I had been smoking.

     “Is everything okay pal?” he asked as he poured my drink.

    I hoisted it, and like that dude Norm, in Cheers, I swallowed twice, and it was gone.

     “Please gimme anoda one Pat,” I asked.

     Then I as I sat there, and told him what happened, he poured himself one, and me another.

     “Damn!” one guy said aloud, “Gimme anoda un hea Paddy.”

     “Oh sheeeeet!” said another, “Me too, me one hea too,” another gasped.

     He shuffled over, poured their drinks, then came back, poured one for himself, and another for me.

     “That one’s on the house kid,” he murmured.

     That whole thing began early in the afternoon, and I spent the day there smoking, drinking, and thinking about those poor souls. The smell of burnt flesh mixed with fuel, and the sight of that small plane wrecked on a rock, on which we used to play as kids stayed with me for a long time. I believe that was the last time I saw Pat, the park, and that rock. Anxiety and tobacco…man, they go hand in hand.

     Harold was married to a lovely lady who was a public school principal. The man was a bona fide con man, and some peeps could not understand what the hell she saw in him. But for all of that he certainly knew how lucky he was. Harold was a pal of Red another con man, who was just as jive. They both owned stores, and sometimes they made deals together to get a break on cost.