Jackson Warfield
"it's easy to be a bad writer, but it's hard to wake up each day and devote a chunk of your life to bad writing."
All work copyright Jackson Warfield 2009
JUST STOPPED IN FOR A BEER
by JACKSON WARFIELD
I eased up on the throttle when I saw a neon light which spelled COCKTAILS. That was all the enticement I ever needed.
Hell, I could go for a drink.
I tapped my little Rebel into fourth, third, second then knocked her into neutral and coasted into a dirt parking lot. Next to the neon sign was a wood sign painted JADE IMPERIAL.
Must be some Chinese joint.
I walked in through the door and an old Chinese man was sitting in a plastic chair directly in front of the entrance. He glanced up at me but said nothing. After a moment he pointed with his thumb towards another doorway above which was painted BAR.
Hmm, I must have that look about me, like I'm not here to eat.
I heard voices and followed them through what appeared to be an old apartment. I passed through what would have been a bedroom or den, then into a living room. The bar was set up in what had been the kitchen and there was still a refrigerator and regular kitchen sink.
There was a countertop with three stools before it, and in the corners were sets of plastic tables and chairs. On two of the stools sat big, fat grizzly – looking men and another paper thin man stood to one end of the bar, talking to the other two.
Regulars, your everyday American screwheads.
The bartender was a scrawny woman with thin blonde hair. She was maybe in her mid thirties, with the look about her that at one point in her life she'd been handsome but that time had passed long before. Like she'd been worn down by fate but hadn't been left with nothing. Like her spirit hadn't been completely crushed.
"hey honey, what can I get you?" she asked, as though she'd asked me a thousand times before.
The three men became quiet and turned towards me. They hadn't noticed
my arrival until then. It looked like the two big, fat men were brothers. You could see it in the folds of their chins.
"well, what the hell do we have here?" said one of them.
The other turned to him and grunted, "yeah, I thought we were all, uh, already here."
They started laughing and the skinny one joined in. You could tell it was a joke they made anytime that somebody new came into the bar.
The bartender smiled and said to them, "ah, shush up, boys. You'll scare off the customer."
I peered into the beer cooler next to the refrigerator and asked for a can of Miller High Life. She slid open one of the glass doors and grabbed a can, snapping it open.
"glass?"
"no, thanks."
"here you go. That'll be three dollars."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my money clip, peeling out a fiver.
"here you go. Keep it."
"thanks, dear."
The men had gone back to their grumbling, saying things like, "and what the hell was up Billy's ass last night? He come in here eyes blazing and fists swingin'!"
"oh, it was prolly his old lady. She prolly beats him with a stick."
I sat down at one of the tables in the corner and slurped my beer. There were tiny holes in the walls from where thumb tacks had held posters. Through the two doorways I could just see the owner man. His head was leaned forward to one side and he was sleeping. He didn't even look like a real person and he sure as hell didn't fit in with the others. I wondered how he'd ended up here in some hick town in New Hampshire running some three stool bar. Shit does happen.
I didn't wonder for long, though. My mind wandered to the dirt parking lot outside and to the humdrum conversation of the three men and the bartender. I sat there and enjoyed my beer, at relative peace with the world. And when I finished, I got up and brought the empty can back to the bar.
"oh, thanks dear," said the bartender.
"no worries. Thank you."
"goin' so soon?" asked the paper thin man in a slow, lazy drawl, obviously caring little about an answer. As though he had just said it like a man would let out a fart in the privacy of his own home.
I nodded and turned to the bartender.
"take it easy."
I walked out of that bar, got back onto my motorcycle and road home with the sun setting on my back. I had a long night ahead of me. I had to pack my things and say my goodbyes and make sure that any loose ends were tied up because the next day I was leaving America for a trip that would take me all around the world and last God only knew how long.
JUST STOPPED IN FOR A BEER
by JACKSON WARFIELD
I eased up on the throttle when I saw a neon light which spelled COCKTAILS. That was all the enticement I ever needed.
Hell, I could go for a drink.
I tapped my little Rebel into fourth, third, second then knocked her into neutral and coasted into a dirt parking lot. Next to the neon sign was a wood sign painted JADE IMPERIAL.
Must be some Chinese joint.
I walked in through the door and an old Chinese man was sitting in a plastic chair directly in front of the entrance. He glanced up at me but said nothing. After a moment he pointed with his thumb towards another doorway above which was painted BAR.
Hmm, I must have that look about me, like I'm not here to eat.
I heard voices and followed them through what appeared to be an old apartment. I passed through what would have been a bedroom or den, then into a living room. The bar was set up in what had been the kitchen and there was still a refrigerator and regular kitchen sink.
There was a countertop with three stools before it, and in the corners were sets of plastic tables and chairs. On two of the stools sat big, fat grizzly – looking men and another paper thin man stood to one end of the bar, talking to the other two.
Regulars, your everyday American screwheads.
The bartender was a scrawny woman with thin blonde hair. She was maybe in her mid thirties, with the look about her that at one point in her life she'd been handsome but that time had passed long before. Like she'd been worn down by fate but hadn't been left with nothing. Like her spirit hadn't been completely crushed.
"hey honey, what can I get you?" she asked, as though she'd asked me a thousand times before.
The three men became quiet and turned towards me. They hadn't noticed
my arrival until then. It looked like the two big, fat men were brothers. You could see it in the folds of their chins.
"well, what the hell do we have here?" said one of them.
The other turned to him and grunted, "yeah, I thought we were all, uh, already here."
They started laughing and the skinny one joined in. You could tell it was a joke they made anytime that somebody new came into the bar.
The bartender smiled and said to them, "ah, shush up, boys. You'll scare off the customer."
I peered into the beer cooler next to the refrigerator and asked for a can of Miller High Life. She slid open one of the glass doors and grabbed a can, snapping it open.
"glass?"
"no, thanks."
"here you go. That'll be three dollars."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my money clip, peeling out a fiver.
"here you go. Keep it."
"thanks, dear."
The men had gone back to their grumbling, saying things like, "and what the hell was up Billy's ass last night? He come in here eyes blazing and fists swingin'!"
"oh, it was prolly his old lady. She prolly beats him with a stick."
I sat down at one of the tables in the corner and slurped my beer. There were tiny holes in the walls from where thumb tacks had held posters. Through the two doorways I could just see the owner man. His head was leaned forward to one side and he was sleeping. He didn't even look like a real person and he sure as hell didn't fit in with the others. I wondered how he'd ended up here in some hick town in New Hampshire running some three stool bar. Shit does happen.
I didn't wonder for long, though. My mind wandered to the dirt parking lot outside and to the humdrum conversation of the three men and the bartender. I sat there and enjoyed my beer, at relative peace with the world. And when I finished, I got up and brought the empty can back to the bar.
"oh, thanks dear," said the bartender.
"no worries. Thank you."
"goin' so soon?" asked the paper thin man in a slow, lazy drawl, obviously caring little about an answer. As though he had just said it like a man would let out a fart in the privacy of his own home.
I nodded and turned to the bartender.
"take it easy."
I walked out of that bar, got back onto my motorcycle and road home with the sun setting on my back. I had a long night ahead of me. I had to pack my things and say my goodbyes and make sure that any loose ends were tied up because the next day I was leaving America for a trip that would take me all around the world and last God only knew how long.
"hell, I could go
for a drink."
for a drink."