Chris wasn’t even my friend, what did I care. He dated a girl we had flipping beers to the patio. She was a nice natural born cheerleader type who had probably survived cancer due to her overwhelming P.M.A. She never had PMS.. no, no she always chatted on like a happy bird.

     Chris commented on the football game as I jerked glasses on the cleaning heads. Had I made a pool for the season? Where the beer bunnies going to show up again? He probed every avenue and I stood erect as if to answer. “Sorry, too busy. I was banging your mom.” I didn’t say this but instead looked for a clock. It was weird how I never seen his mom and him in the same room. Might never have made the connection if..

     Jen came in with a tray of empty's. “I have a few parties still.“ She didn’t know when she would be finished. Chris asked if I wanted to go hopping with them after hours. I smiled at the engineer. “Sure. Want another?“

     I didn’t join them in the Blazer but took to following them in my old Toyota. I figured if they crashed I could haul their bludgeoned bodies to the hospital. Jen shouldn’t have been so loyal to that guy. I had a sneaking belief that he hit her. Other than that, there was no reason for me to enjoy the knowledge that I had tapped his birth spout (just like his dad.. just like his dad).

     He swung around the Bull-N-Bear somehow realizing that no one wanted him there. It was a small pseudo biker bar where you bring your own friends and they supply the beer. There was Flynn’s for flesh and Basil’s Bar around the stockade of storefronts that kicked their patrons out at eight. Basil’s was a college well and Chris had never been to school. He was a professional tradesman who had never taken Spanish. So it was surprising to see him pull into the old Tropicana. Chris hid his SUV in the parking lot thinking that anonymity could be found the more people were added.

     We arrived as if late for a gay funeral. Everyone starred at us wondering which guy was with the girl. I ordered drinks with winks. For there is a small celebrity among any bar man that pulls a guest appearance at a neighboring pub. Big Matty slammed down three shots of Jaeger with forty-eight ounces in three glasses for the rebound. I thanked him and tipped heavy. After bringing my tray to the counter where Chris lounged and talked of pool, I excused myself to the leaker.

     I didn’t really go to the drain-line but instead dug a ditch by walking away. It was as if they were my cousins I had been forced to take to the Prom. They weren’t my responsibility. Fuck, I felt funky. There was sweat drying on the inside of my rolled up shirt. I still smelled vaguely of some cologne drained from a fashionable Frenchmen. I suppose Frenchies just piss in bottles all day. So I slammed the liquor and spilled the beer on a couple Hutchie Girls with tits holding up their mini blouses. “Sorry. Can I give you a hand with that?” The one who had gotten spilled where most good whores tuck their money—she was too angry to like my comedy. She talked about me getting my ass beat by her friend called Julio.

     I didn’t imagine Julio would want to dance. I should have slept before the swing shift. My mom had called to rag that I slept all day, and some sense of offspring guilt had me loading her trailer and making a dump run before noon. I can think of few beasts that should be awake before noon.

     Just then I found a girl I wanted to get familiar with. She had long crimped black hair at a time when that was something to aspire to. She looked like she had riding jeans on. I forgot that the cologne body wash had taken place of a formal shower. The clothes were clean and so that was half the point besides being too mud-water-happy to care. My head was more plastered than my hair as I walked up from behind the brunette and chose to say “hi” before lunging for her waist.

     “Oh my god! Philipe` is that you?” I burped that it was. I figured that is was some girl from the bar as I looked for a parting in her shirt to burry my tired face in. “PHILIPE IT’S ME!” I said “Yeah..” and slurred my knowing, bulging in gravity from back to front. How many had I had during my shift? The old timers always try to buy instead of tipping, and you have to drink it right then (or they get pissed). It was Matty’s wife. Oh gawd I was glad we had never banged. She was grabbing my face in her hands, talking to a girlfriend about who I was and where I worked. “Did Matt over-serve you?” I didn’t know. How does it work when a bartender over-serves a bartender?

     I could hear Julio coming to kick my ass. Stupid gang-spigot had to use a gun. I thought about saying “émigré’ as he brought a G-lock out to my temple. Wouldn’t it have been fun to urinate on Julio and his old lady. Julio was calling me Casper-the-maggot-cock. I could hear people say to call the cops as Chris came running toward me. It was all so funny and so slow.