The Empty Bar....

"At 9:00 the bus pulls out"...she winks over her shoulder. It's a ritual. At 8:45 I hide my keys in an obvious place, open a new pack of cigarettes, tuck a twenty in my pocket and turn the lights out. We're goin' out!

We tuck the car into the first tight squeeze and scan the parking lot. Whose here and whose not registering like ten potatoes-for-a-dollar at the Winn Dixie check out. I skip ahead, first one to the graffiti lit dungeon door, stand on my tippie toes, peek through the smoke smeared window and then......
we go in.....
I never tell what I see or don't....

We curtsy and shake hands, kiss cheeks and tossle hair, hug, make the rounds, and then lean our barstools back on all four legs, and claim them. Our drinks hit the black bartop before our cigarettes do....and Friday night begins....

Ten o'clock, eleven, twelve, and save the last one for me. We make the rounds, clink 'em, spin 'em, twirl and dip 'em. The occassional new face wanders in and we scoop them up into the circle, twine them around our little fingers and into our Friday night stories. Sometimes, they come back again, and then we call them "Friend"......

I love this bar.

It's only when they belt out Bob Segar, that I slump a little, chug my beer a little harder, and realize how empty it is...

Turn the page....