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Coctail bar – The Night in the Bar

The church steeple Drifts off into the shadow. The trees in the adjoining Peninsula, across Jackson Street, could just be observed from the fleeting litres of automobiles. The mist whitens the trees. Everybody is in the corner pubs, Bram’s or even the Mount Airy. Chick Evens straightens up, takes a cigarette out, a light drizzle of rain fills the air, as he walks up Sycamore Street, turns-sees the corner pubs.

Coctail bar

A Couple run-down busses Pass him but are soon dropped, as soon as they flip the corner-he detected several black faces around the bus, even hateful, appearing faces (maybe it is the days, he feels). He hears voices coming from both pubs, music is loud. He opens his eyes wider, leans his throat back, his stomach is somewhat sour by the drunk he had the evening before. A cab goes, stops in front of Bram’s, it looks like Nancy, David, Carol and Rockwater.

Now standing between the two doorways of this Mt. Airy, he could listen to the blind noisy road. There are a number of recognizable faces at the pub, he sees looking through the western fashion, swinging doors. He believes it’d have been better had he come later-more men and women, but he is here today. He heads for the toilet, urinates and combs his hair, washes his face, he has been drinking the day up in Jerry Hino’s home, a half-mile beyond the church he was playing cards with Jerry and his brother Jim, and Mike Gulf, also Betty-Jerry’s spouse, needed to feed the children, so he chose to depart.

He’s from this Toilet, his light coat laid his arm over his arm, his buddy Allen is at 1 corner of the pub, he articulates his head-I imply that they nod their heads to get recognition of another. Bill and his wife Judy are in a stall for his left; Bill had just return from the war in Vietnam. John St. Clair is another corner of the pub, his girlfriend’s by herself in the pub opposite him. Significant Ace, near six-foot six inches tall the local mannequin, no teeth, 210 lbs, ten-years everybody’s mature, or thereabout, not really that bright, is sitting next to Doug, singing his bizarre song: Twenty-four black birds baked in the dish, he then forgets the rest of the poetry, he always does, and also moves to a stirring episode, like lost within his own head-pert close dance on his feces, thumping the pub feet kicking. Over at this website

Doug and Ace have been sitting at the center of the horseshoe shaped bar, like most everybody, drinking beer, it might appear a beer festival was happening; but it is a really standard daily matter, and also on the weekends that the only distinction is that they all get drunker. The pub is not much greater than a dip: no, it is merely that, a dip. Chick Evens feels a tinge bad but understands with a couple more beers he will not believe anything, anyhow, that will fix him up.

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