Long green carpet cigarette burns narrow place old bartender taking shots with the patrons fucking freezing outside misunderstood and hazy we order our second drink young goth types share a booth serious confused deep sorry amber reaching for drinks leather wristbands thinking sex and words and bullet holes...got no time or concern for the problems of the world, living pure and uncaring is what I want, not selfish but PURE, seemingly cold and distant but actually alive and understanding and unwilling to shut my eyes to true human nature, middle-aged waitress serving cheap draft in tall glasses gnarly fingers wrapped tight my friend slurping beer eyes laughing, says Elvis Costello is the real king of rock absolute expression on her face takes off parka wearing black turtleneck shows me a joint in her Du Maurier pack I nod she follows me out we’re in back alley fire-escapes and broken bottles sirens in the distance puffing on joint sweet fire down my throat she punches my arm lightly starts coughing up a lung, I kick a pile of snow sun starting to rear its head through dark clouds, she takes my hand we turn the corner, light a smoke, throat burning, thirsty eyes watering, open door walk inside, our booth with full ashtray, half empty draft glasses, sit down my queen, let’s continue...
“Don’t like this hip-hop bullshit” she says “it’s worse than that seventies shit”
“There was some good music in the seventies, if you can sift through that self-indulgent arena crap”
“Sorry but a twenty minute guitar solo with a violin bow doesn’t do it for me”
“Like I said, skip that bullshit, listen to Alex Harvey and Lou Reed, guitar solos or not”
“You wanna buy some pot?”
“You got some?”
“That’s what I do for a living, got a gram of black hash too”
Blast from the past comes up to me, tall black guy with dreads red eyes,
“Hey man!”
We do the street handshake, he takes a seat
“How goes it?” I say
“Just got in from Toronto...hate this fucking city”
“Why’d you come back?”
“Got caught with a gun...had to split”
“What’s your beef with The Peg?”
“It’s a fucking waste zone, nothing to do, no night-shit experience, no bitches here to fuck, no nothing”
I look at my friend no expression on her face guy continues,
“Was in the joint for awhile, no bullshit in there man, no bitches...”
“Still playing guitar?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Not professionally anymore, for fun”
“You should have never quit man, lotsa bitches in rock and roll...got any blow?”
“Don’t do that shit...”
“What do you do?”
“Just pot and booze”
“And bitches” says my female friend
Guy starts eyeing her up and down always was dangerous type of freak, he’s looking with x-ray gunshot eyes, she’s looking back not a hint of fear or shame bold pouty lips teeth clenched in laughter guy walks away all street and hustle macho confusion full-of-shit-motherfucker bus-stop-girl starts talking again like he was never here got boyfriend back in Toronto but,
“It’s not very good, not very good at all”
“It rarely is” I say “rarely under the sun and damn the laughter anyway”
“So where do you live?”
“By Central Park in a highrise”
“The one with the Mac’s store attached to it, or the other one?”
“The Mac’s store”
“Pretty rough neighborhood, got a girlfriend?”
“No, no, like I said, damn the laughter”
“I’m one hundred percent monogamous”
“That’s a bit conservative, isn’t it?”
“Conservative hell, how about you?”
“Maybe not one hundred percent, but monogamy really works for me...”
“Let’s have a shot of Sambuca, ya dig?”
Couple of freaks sipping on Sambuca and cheap draft is what we are and always will be old fuck tired drunk stumbles past us orders whiskey shot other guy playing sport- select greasy hair parted on side, my friend crosses her legs touches my foot under table wave of sexual tension up my spine cigarettes mix with afternoon derision while waitress in baggy pants waves a hand and smiles at native couple in the corner, Filipino plugging the jukebox, white-man pacing up and down looking wired and electric, far in the back musician tunes his six-string, jazz in smoky room cliched and alive waiting on the job ain’t no damn good, neither is sailing the seven seas sober and unhinged, she makes music singing without singing, doing without doing, wild day in the sunlight of afternoon barroom, she makes me crazy young beautiful left of normal, continue I say, continue,
“I don’t mind jazz but I need some rock and roll right now, got a loony?”
I flip her one she glides to the juke in slow motion easy vibration full of curves and attitude black boots sliding across the cigarette butts almost clumsy, almost perfect, chinaman hogs space she motions him aside they laugh and talk she makes her selection CCR shaking her hips back to our table I get up, rotate, sit back down, cigarette between my fingers beer in hand mind confident shifting from this to that wave of energy slices across the room she’s laughing loud and insane and wild and desperate and separate ideas with nowhere to go spin like death illusion strawberry vodka twist of ice Patty Smidtch down the turnstile,
“You’re much more than a security guard” she says,
“I don’t think so”
“Don’t give me this modest bullshit”
“You can go fuck yourself”
“I like fucking myself, want another draft?”
“Yeah, sorry about the fucking yourself remark...I’m a writer”
“Anything published?”
“A novel, a few chapbooks, strictly underground...more to come”
“Here’s to more to come”
“Cen’t anni”
We hit glasses like regular drinking fools around the world more native guys come through the door beautiful long black hair old woman with cane follows trailing mud and snow from outside cook in stained white apron serving cheeseburger and fries and coleslaw,
“I know that cook” I say “jammed with him a couple of times at parties”
“Let me guess...he’s a bass player”
“Drummer...”
“The hell with him”
Sadness of the world ain’t nothing old fellow at the urinal shoots the shit with me, don’t got the heart to tell him to fuck-off which is what I want to say but instead,
“Have a nice day buddy”
He walks away happy that someone took the time, I hear him shouting for a drink as the door closes and I zip up, look in the mirror thinking I’m losing a job today, walk out into the smoke and sallow faces, my friend smiling right at me like she was waiting for this moment her whole life,
“Looks like I’m losing my job today”
“I was wondering if that security guard thing was bullshit”
“No bullshit, and no point in going home now”
“Fuck it, it’s just a job”
“Exactly”
Secretly worried about the fact I light another smoke, act like the whole thing means nothing in the grim light of living jukebox making funny sounds wondering where to go from here my friend with her cigarettes and abundant laughter argument in the corner meaning nothing to me, to her, to anyone with a belly-full of delight and desperation couple of drunks join us male and female used to drink with them at the dive down the street we’re talking the good drinking talk serious then playful I’m telling stories everyone listening from one corner of the globe to the other everyone laughing while dying and living reaching for a smoke a touch of grace drunken woman hitting on me,
“I’m with her” I say,
They talk a bit more then hit the road we’re alone again,
“What do you think about this war on terrorism thing?” she says,
“Don’t give a damn”
“I support it, it’s the first war I’ve ever supported”
“Would you go fight in the front lines?”
“Hell no”
“Then how can you support something you won’t fight for?”
“You’re being smart, that’s what you’re doing”
“I was hoping for a clever comeback, but I ain’t got one”
“What is with you?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, it’s the way you talk, whenever you open your mouth people listen...in the last hour I’ve seen you talk to a punker, a gangster, a couple of drunks, and it’s the same every time...”
“It just looks that way, it’s not really like that”
“Ever been to Toronto?”
“The airport”
“You’re not missing anything, it’s fucked-up”
“I’ve heard it’s a beautiful city, very alive and happening”
“It seems that way, like most big cities, actually it’s anything BUT...I’ve traveled the world, I know”
“How did you manage that?”
“My old man was in the military...and when I grew up he was very generous with his money, and don’t give me any spoiled-daddy’s-girl bullshit”
“Not at all, I wish I was a spoiled-daddy’s-girl”
“Funny guy...
“No, I mean it”
“I’ve seen all of Western Europe, China, spent a year in Tokyo, a few months in Australia”
“Sounds like a good time”
“A blast man...how about you, what have you seen?”
“Don’t like to travel, but I’m from Italy, been back and forth several times, seen a bit more than I would have liked”
“Italy? Wait a second, you don’t like to travel? How can someone not like to travel?”
“Hold your horses kitty kat, I’ll tell you...”
We’re interrupted by another one of my downtown drinking cronies, retired office-worker loose tie booze on his cheeks fell from grace at his job forced into early retirement questionable character always liked this guy with his status-quo rebellion we have a few laughs he moves on clock says mid-afternoon feeling the beer and the pot my friend's face flushed and happy Nirvana coming from the juke wasted afternoon in the urban Canadian prairies one more draft I say then let’s, let’s move on...
