For Boston
Posted by Bob McGovern
“Another Bud Light pal,” Tom said, hunched over the beer-soaked bar.
“Bottle or pint?” said the bartender, reaching into the cooler filled with bottles. His other hand quivered slightly, held taught within a cast. From a bar fight? From Connect Four? From…
“Bottle,” Tom whispered as he left five bucks on the table and went to take a piss.
His excess made the familiar splash in the toilet and he placed his full palm on the wall in front of him, to keep steady of course. Sweat matted the hairs which had escaped from within his hat – he was used to it.
Some cliché song from the 80s knocked at the bathroom door and Tom mouthed the words. He broke up the flow of his urine so … it … hit … the … water … in … spurts. He flushed, ran the faucet on his hands for two seconds, and went to work.
His beer sat there with change, no one touched it, this was a good bar.
A tip was left and Tom leaned his back to the bar and took a look around. A slew of college grads mingled with 30-somethings. The hair gel, the perfume, the olde State U. shirts; they were all holding on to something they never really had.
His foot tapped to the beat of a more recent tune and everyone was singing along.
“Anyway you want it, that’s the wa…”
“Oh shit,” thought Tom, “Bathroom.”
He ran back in and burst into the open stall. Beer in hand, he let a five-second puke splash into the toilet water. Round two started to come, but it was only 11 pm. – way too early, the impurities rested on their laurels.
Tom whipped his brow with the bottle. “Like a champ,” he thought, while shining a puke-stained grin.
He rinsed out his mouth, finished off the beer while occasionally checking himself out in the mirror, and went back to the sweating mass of convoluted dreamers.
Andy was just approaching the bar when Tom came out and the two saw each other coming. Andy reached out his hand, while hailing the bartender with the other.
“Just puked man,” Tom said. “Cheers.”
They sat and talked and drank. Social circles danced behind them; spinning, laughing, and drinking. No one really wanted to be there; they were all looking for someone or something to hold on to.
The post college days had gripped this generation of wanderers and led them to dead-end jobs and lost nights at musky bars. There was no pause, no reverse, no pressing restart on the off-gray Nintendo they remembered. There was nothing but a long dry sigh.
It was a piercing form of envy that no one had felt before. Sure, they had been jealous of others, but now they envied their own past. All they wanted wa…
“Fucked if I know, you shithead,” Tom yelled on his cell phone. “I’m done with this, peace.”
“What was that?” Andy asked before polishing off another beer.
“Two shots of SoCo,” Tom yelled to the bartender, ignoring Andy’s question.
The shots came and the shots went.
“You ever think about just getting out of here? You know just packing up and leaving for Denver, or San Diego, or something?” Tom asked, staring at sports highlights on the bar’s flatscreen.
“Yeah man, I need a vacation,” Andy said, signaling to the bartender.
Two more shots, a pair of beers, and a break for a cigarette – the mental lights were as bright as they were going to get. From here on out, the party was only two feet in front of their faces.
The next morning, Tom woke up alone and hungover again. He grabbed his pipe, filled it up with some pot, and told the morning to go fuck itself.
He rolled over and stared at the wall with his pipe in hand.
“I guess we’re all students,” he thought as he lit the bowl and inhaled.
The smoke burned, his thoughts became one, and somewhere in Colorado a dog walked without a leash.
“Another Bud Light pal,” Tom said, hunched over the beer-soaked bar.
“Bottle or pint?” said the bartender, reaching into the cooler filled with bottles. His other hand quivered slightly, held taught within a cast. From a bar fight? From Connect Four? From…
“Bottle,” Tom whispered as he left five bucks on the table and went to take a piss.
His excess made the familiar splash in the toilet and he placed his full palm on the wall in front of him, to keep steady of course. Sweat matted the hairs which had escaped from within his hat – he was used to it.
Some cliché song from the 80s knocked at the bathroom door and Tom mouthed the words. He broke up the flow of his urine so … it … hit … the … water … in … spurts. He flushed, ran the faucet on his hands for two seconds, and went to work.
His beer sat there with change, no one touched it, this was a good bar.
A tip was left and Tom leaned his back to the bar and took a look around. A slew of college grads mingled with 30-somethings. The hair gel, the perfume, the olde State U. shirts; they were all holding on to something they never really had.
His foot tapped to the beat of a more recent tune and everyone was singing along.
“Anyway you want it, that’s the wa…”
“Oh shit,” thought Tom, “Bathroom.”
He ran back in and burst into the open stall. Beer in hand, he let a five-second puke splash into the toilet water. Round two started to come, but it was only 11 pm. – way too early, the impurities rested on their laurels.
Tom whipped his brow with the bottle. “Like a champ,” he thought, while shining a puke-stained grin.
He rinsed out his mouth, finished off the beer while occasionally checking himself out in the mirror, and went back to the sweating mass of convoluted dreamers.
Andy was just approaching the bar when Tom came out and the two saw each other coming. Andy reached out his hand, while hailing the bartender with the other.
“Just puked man,” Tom said. “Cheers.”
They sat and talked and drank. Social circles danced behind them; spinning, laughing, and drinking. No one really wanted to be there; they were all looking for someone or something to hold on to.
The post college days had gripped this generation of wanderers and led them to dead-end jobs and lost nights at musky bars. There was no pause, no reverse, no pressing restart on the off-gray Nintendo they remembered. There was nothing but a long dry sigh.
It was a piercing form of envy that no one had felt before. Sure, they had been jealous of others, but now they envied their own past. All they wanted wa…
“Fucked if I know, you shithead,” Tom yelled on his cell phone. “I’m done with this, peace.”
“What was that?” Andy asked before polishing off another beer.
“Two shots of SoCo,” Tom yelled to the bartender, ignoring Andy’s question.
The shots came and the shots went.
“You ever think about just getting out of here? You know just packing up and leaving for Denver, or San Diego, or something?” Tom asked, staring at sports highlights on the bar’s flatscreen.
“Yeah man, I need a vacation,” Andy said, signaling to the bartender.
Two more shots, a pair of beers, and a break for a cigarette – the mental lights were as bright as they were going to get. From here on out, the party was only two feet in front of their faces.
The next morning, Tom woke up alone and hungover again. He grabbed his pipe, filled it up with some pot, and told the morning to go fuck itself.
He rolled over and stared at the wall with his pipe in hand.
“I guess we’re all students,” he thought as he lit the bowl and inhaled.
The smoke burned, his thoughts became one, and somewhere in Colorado a dog walked without a leash.
This entry was posted by Ben Myers, on
Saturday, June 03, 2006.
You can leave your response.
4:42 PM
Tom is Bob! The Soco was a dead give-away pal. From the sound of things, you're ready for CO.
8:15 AM
Ah, Colorado, where beer costs $2 and the dogs walk without leashes. Hey, I wouldn't mind Boston.