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Tuesday, June 10, 2003

Tavern

It can't possibly be there any more. It's not. Greenview and Belden. One long room with one long bar. Formica, I think. A parking meter stood on the counter behind the bar. A cigarette machine. One horribly dirty restroom with a round lidded trash can on which someone had Sharpied in black, "R2D2." A couple tables and a few chairs.

The atmosphere: Smoke tinged sepia.

Television: Check.

On the jukebox: "Celebrate" by Kool and the Gang, and "Let Me Call You Sweetheart" by someone I don't know who.

The house drink: Old Style beers and shots of generic Amaretto. Down a couple of those and you were made a card carrying member of the organization. They mocked people who drank anything else.

The house entertainment: Cockroach races down the length of a bar. How do you get a cockroach to race? You light a match behind it.

The people: Big Wally, the owner and tavern namesake. His wife, Big Evelyn. But she never came to the tavern. Three big tavern dogs. Bones, the bartender and a dead shoe-in for Willie Joe. Leo the mailman, a truly adorable, but miserably depressed older gentleman. He called me Veronica and he always had a smile for me. Phil and his wife. Even rip roaring drunk, she remained silent. Crazy Dave, not at all smart, but all heart. He just wanted to fit in.

Enough. This is going nowhere.

Posted by Marie at June 10, 2003 11:27 PM

Comments

This sounds like "Cheers", if Tim Burton made a movie of it. I think you should keep going!

Posted by: Jeff at June 11, 2003 3:38 PM