Thursday

Seated in my small 10 by 12 bare room I felt bored. I was reading stories of sad old men and it only made me feel worst. Feeling weary and a bit hungry I was too lazy to go out and grab any food so I ate the four rotting bananas that were decomposing on the back right corner of my empty desk. And to wash down that overly sweet browning mushy substance I gulped down a few swigs of gin. Bananas and gin: my 9 o’clock dinner.

I began to listen to some music. I just downloaded some songs from this guy Tom Waits; the songs were from his 1985 album “Rain Dogs.” I got into him after searching Youtube for readings of Bukowski poems. Waits gave a few good readings; “Nirvana” was particularly beautiful. I now like his music though; he has this distinctive gruff voice. It makes me think of a lonesome dog barking at life, something I can begin to understand sitting in my tiny bare white room eating rotting bananas that I’m washing down with modestly priced gin; it was about $14 for a 5th. There’s cheaper gin out there but I don’t find myself that desperate or broken yet.

After finishing the mush of those four bananas that were on my desk and gulping one more swig I began to feel pent-up and a little crazy. I decided to go out to the gritty bar I frequently find myself stumbling into.

It was maybe 10 when I got there and my middle-aged bartender friend was sitting outside. He’s a bit overweight and was wearing his usual black t-shirt and jeans; it seems to suit him. He also has this large scar across his face, I’m not really sure what its from; I’ve never asked. I figured it’s one of those personal things that someone might someday confide in you, but I’m in no particular hurry to unfold all his secrets. I was just looking for a beer. I think he only likes me because, so long as I’m not too drunk, I always give him a $1 tip for every drink I get. It adds up but I like him more than most of my acquaintances. I can’t really say why.

I noticed the bar was empty when I walked up to him. It was a Thursday night after all. So we talked for some time. Actually, he mostly talked, as he usually does, and told me a few more pieces of his life I haven’t heard yet. He was telling me about his days in his twenties when he worked as a roofer in the city. I briefly bitched about my few days of hard work and labor but he was able to grasp a beauty of it that I missed. He talked about finishing this big job; seated on a roof and watching a dusk New York sunset enjoying a beer with all the guys he worked all summer-long day with.

Sometimes you’ve got to stare real hard to see something of true beauty. He was able to get a good look at something that skimmed right over my eyes. It’s a little piece of experience I can’t help but envy; he saw something I couldn’t and in the end that makes me have a bit less of life I know he’ll always carry with him.

After we bullshit with each other for a few minutes longer he offered to go inside and let me get a drink. He can tell that’s why I was really there.

The two of us hung-around for a while having casual conversation and watching WWE wrestling. I absolutely hate it but the bartender loves it so I choose not to be rude and pretend to be interested; asking pointless questions about the program that I don’t really care about: “What’s up with that guy?” or “Why’s he so pissed at him?” “Did he really do that?” You get the point. And all the time during the commercials he excitedly answers my questions but as soon as WWE comes back on he’s entranced and wont say a single word. I like that time. A moment to breath easy in company I don’t mind, but mostly enjoy being alone with my beer.

A little while later this large group of kids, probably in high school, came in. The boys strut about, clearly the tough bros of their time and place, while their ditzy girls giggled, drank feminine shots, and fawned over their young aggressive chimp-like mates. I found them all revolting. Something about that sort of breed doesn’t sit well with me. Regardless, I did nothing but took another sip of my beer and annoyed them all by playing the song “Bukowski” by Modest Mouse on the jukebox. I don’t think the song is particularly great but it does pay homage to a man I grossly admire.

My bartender only pretended to care about their age for a moment but since they were a fairly large group he was more than excited for me to not be his only business that night. His other middle-aged friend, Juan, who also frequently stops in on off nights stumbled in shortly after. He’s fairly short and Mexican and despite being belligerently blunt is also very quick-witted and potentially hilarious, so long as you’re not his target. I talked with him for a minute or two and then he hopped behind the bar and helped bartend while getting himself fairly drunk in the process. The bartender always gets annoyed when Juan gets drunk behind the bar, he gives away free shots to any girl he finds remotely attractive.

A little later in the night Juan managed to persuade these two young girls to make-out for free shots; they must’ve been no older than 17 if even that. Juan was clearly excited and I saw the bartender look over, he had a huge grin across his face. He saw me looking at him and could tell I thought something wrong with the sight and felt guilty. He averted his gaze and went back to work.

Soon after around 12 the kiddies grew tired and left. They all seemed pretty drunk and went back and packed into the two cars they came in. I was surprised that I felt any concern. I guess even if some people can be ear-bleedingly irritating they don’t deserve injury of any kind. But I washed down my concern with the few remaining gulps of my now warm beer and a final shot of whiskey. I was temporarily numbed. I paid for my drinks, thanked the bartender and said goodbye to him and Juan. I was tired and had my fill of Thursday.