Joseph sat and thought about what he wanted from life. Food-shelter-clothing were all he needed for himself and bartending would pay the bills. He and his friends had always been that way – minimalist, as he'd heard it termed and lately spread like gospel. But he knew enough to know that needs and wants were different things.
What if he just wanted to hang out in Philly neighborhoods and live? Would that be enough for Annabeth? He liked to look out his front windows and see people. Like Fishtown was some big college campus sans the college and with more hipsters and toddlers and long time residents. He liked the neighborhood's feral cats, though he kinda felt bad for them and sometimes gave them food.
Magic Johnson popped into his head – he'd seen him on tv earlier pitching HealthCare.gov, urging people to care enough about their own health to visit the web site and sign up. Of all the things his bloated government pissed away its people's hard earned money on, the Magic Johnson commercial and its message bothered him the least. For Joseph, health insurance had always been a want, and mostly he just felt lucky that it hadn't yet become a need.
The time struck him – just after 4:00 am. He'd been sitting in his den in the dark for hours. Maybe he'd wake up the next day and know exactly what he wanted, have some epiphany and take up a new career or ask Annabeth to marry him. Or maybe he'd just make breakfast and go for a walk while it digested, if the sun shines.
Showing posts with label Annabeth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Annabeth. Show all posts
The Biggest Small Town in America
He heard that people who move to Philly either love it or hate it, no in-betweens. Nearly two years have passed since his arrival and, decidedly, he counts as one of the lovers. After a period of shyness, he met Rose the same way he met most of the people he knows in the city – by being himself and having the balls to do what he felt was the right thing at the time. In the case of meeting Rose, having balls and doing what felt right just meant pushing his way through a crowd of people to get her a drink at a party where he'd caught a look in her eye of hopeless frustration.
When his dinner guests begin to arrive, he's preparing a salad. He expects nine people, five of whom he knows. The other four are Rose's friends Suki and Annabeth plus their boyfriends, and this little group arrives last, knocking on his rented row home door just as he removes a roast from the oven. Suki and Annabeth hug Rose and wish her a happy birthday while the others all introduce themselves. He places the roast on top of the stove and joins them in his living / dining room, where he immediately recognizes Suki and Annabeth's boyfriends. A sudden feeling of having come full circle in Philadelphia overtakes him.
"Linc, hey," says Rose, "come meet Suki and Anna and their boyfriends, Garret and Joe."
"Hey, I'm Garret, thanks for having us." A hand extends and he shakes it.
"Yeah, thank you. I'm Joe." Another handshake.
"Nice to meet you guys, I'm Lincoln, everyone calls me Linc. Welcome. I hope you eat meat?"
Both men nod.
"Well alright. You guys look familiar, by the way." He considers mentioning the day when he spoke with them briefly at 700, but decides against it.
Garret and Joseph shrug, and Garret says, "We're around."
They eat dinner and talk about their lives and the city and how the ones who know each other know each other, and he's so happy he can hardly contain himself. The beers go down too easily and he worries that he talks too much and that he overcompensates for talking too much by seeming too interested in everyone else. Did he come off like a zealot for land bank legislation? Did he ask Suki too many questions about the pet rabbit her friend lets roam freely around her finished basement?
Everyone seems to have enjoyed the meal, or at least they tell him so when they leave. It never feels right for him to ask men for their phone numbers, so he doesn't ask Garret and Joseph for theirs, but he thinks next time he sees them around the neighborhood, they'll remember tonight's dinner.
When his dinner guests begin to arrive, he's preparing a salad. He expects nine people, five of whom he knows. The other four are Rose's friends Suki and Annabeth plus their boyfriends, and this little group arrives last, knocking on his rented row home door just as he removes a roast from the oven. Suki and Annabeth hug Rose and wish her a happy birthday while the others all introduce themselves. He places the roast on top of the stove and joins them in his living / dining room, where he immediately recognizes Suki and Annabeth's boyfriends. A sudden feeling of having come full circle in Philadelphia overtakes him.
"Linc, hey," says Rose, "come meet Suki and Anna and their boyfriends, Garret and Joe."
"Hey, I'm Garret, thanks for having us." A hand extends and he shakes it.
"Yeah, thank you. I'm Joe." Another handshake.
"Nice to meet you guys, I'm Lincoln, everyone calls me Linc. Welcome. I hope you eat meat?"
Both men nod.
"Well alright. You guys look familiar, by the way." He considers mentioning the day when he spoke with them briefly at 700, but decides against it.
Garret and Joseph shrug, and Garret says, "We're around."
They eat dinner and talk about their lives and the city and how the ones who know each other know each other, and he's so happy he can hardly contain himself. The beers go down too easily and he worries that he talks too much and that he overcompensates for talking too much by seeming too interested in everyone else. Did he come off like a zealot for land bank legislation? Did he ask Suki too many questions about the pet rabbit her friend lets roam freely around her finished basement?
Everyone seems to have enjoyed the meal, or at least they tell him so when they leave. It never feels right for him to ask men for their phone numbers, so he doesn't ask Garret and Joseph for theirs, but he thinks next time he sees them around the neighborhood, they'll remember tonight's dinner.
Yoda Dreams
Sometimes Yoda appears in Joseph's dreams. Sometimes by surprise and other times, Joseph thinks, by his own design, as if he summons these somnolent visions through his own concentration, his own intrigue.
This morning he awoke perplexed, last night's visit from the Jedi Master more vivid than those past and entirely unprovoked. Joseph found himself in an orchard, strolling tree lined aisles, collecting apples into a bottomless cart. Suddenly Yoda stood before him and Joseph thought perhaps he came to slice Empire apples with his light saber. Or maybe he was just running from Disney.
The diminutive green sage approached and walked beside him.
"Joseph," said Yoda, "everything you need, here you have. Food," he pointed at the apples, "shelter," he pointed to a rickety wooden shack off in the distance that Joseph hadn't noticed, "and the sky."
"The sky?" asked Joseph. "Yoda, don't you mean clothing. Food, shelther, and clothing, right? Aren't those the three basic needs?"
Yoda laughed. "Oh, yes, a smart one you are. Of course, clothing you need. Yes, clothing. But the sky too, you need. Without the sky, there are no clouds. Without clouds, there is no rain. Without rain, there is no food."
"By that logic, you can't only mention the sky. Don't forget the sun, dry land, etc."
"Yes, Joseph! And also something else there is, or should say I, someone else."
"What are you getting at, Yoda?"
"For Jedi, forbidden, love is. But for you, without it, lost, you will be."
"I'm not ready to commit, Master Yoda, please, don't push me."
"Okay, Joseph, back off, I will. Other suggestions for you I have."
"What suggestions?"
"First, a new cart for your apples, you must get. So from your labor, some apples you will have."
Joseph watched himself pick an apple and drop it into his bottomless cart, watched the apple fall through and land on the grass.
"Second, Joseph, you must wake up."
And in that instant Joseph awoke, perplexed. He spent most of the morning that followed searching for meaning. When he told Annabeth about the dream, he mentioned the apple cart, but left out the part about love.
This morning he awoke perplexed, last night's visit from the Jedi Master more vivid than those past and entirely unprovoked. Joseph found himself in an orchard, strolling tree lined aisles, collecting apples into a bottomless cart. Suddenly Yoda stood before him and Joseph thought perhaps he came to slice Empire apples with his light saber. Or maybe he was just running from Disney.
The diminutive green sage approached and walked beside him.
"Joseph," said Yoda, "everything you need, here you have. Food," he pointed at the apples, "shelter," he pointed to a rickety wooden shack off in the distance that Joseph hadn't noticed, "and the sky."
"The sky?" asked Joseph. "Yoda, don't you mean clothing. Food, shelther, and clothing, right? Aren't those the three basic needs?"
Yoda laughed. "Oh, yes, a smart one you are. Of course, clothing you need. Yes, clothing. But the sky too, you need. Without the sky, there are no clouds. Without clouds, there is no rain. Without rain, there is no food."
"By that logic, you can't only mention the sky. Don't forget the sun, dry land, etc."
"Yes, Joseph! And also something else there is, or should say I, someone else."
"What are you getting at, Yoda?"
"For Jedi, forbidden, love is. But for you, without it, lost, you will be."
"I'm not ready to commit, Master Yoda, please, don't push me."
"Okay, Joseph, back off, I will. Other suggestions for you I have."
"What suggestions?"
"First, a new cart for your apples, you must get. So from your labor, some apples you will have."
Joseph watched himself pick an apple and drop it into his bottomless cart, watched the apple fall through and land on the grass.
"Second, Joseph, you must wake up."
And in that instant Joseph awoke, perplexed. He spent most of the morning that followed searching for meaning. When he told Annabeth about the dream, he mentioned the apple cart, but left out the part about love.
Twilight Surprise
Joseph’s head rested between his forearm and bicep, on the bar. He refused to look again at the cell phone smushed against the side of his leg, inside his jeans pocket. He longed for the days when he hadn't owned a cell phone.
She’ll either come or she won’t, he thought. It’s open mic night and people will play music and either she’ll be here or she won’t. I’ll be on this barstool or in the bathroom but I won’t be anywhere else until I’m in bed and that’s all there is to it.
“Another?”
“Huh?”
“Another Maker’s?”
Joseph raised his head, squinted, made a fist and stuck up his thumb and then lowered it toward his empty glass, as if his hand were a bottle.
The bartender poured and he eyed his drink as some guys breezed in and sat at a corner table. A new, buzzing undercurrent began to flow throughout the bar, a sort of lo-fi hum of blended conversations rising in volume. Joseph felt it hypnotize him.
“I think they opened for Radiohead in Camden tonight,” he overheard the young lady to his left try to whisper.
“They know one of the guys who cooks here,” someone else mumbled.
“Hi there!” It was Annabeth’s voice, she came after all. How much time had passed?
“Hi,” he said, expressionless, suddenly at ease.
“Did you get my texts?”
“Oh, sorry, no. Drink?”
“Sure.”
“How was your evening?”
Annabeth laughed, shook her head.
He thought of asking what she’d been doing, why she didn’t come sooner. But all he said was, “It’s got a nice ring when you laugh.”
“You got any extra guitars we could borrow?” one of the guys from the corner table who looked vaguely familiar to Joseph, tall and lean, asked the bartender. The answer was an emphatic “yes.” Soon open mic night was over, transformed into a surprise mini-concert seen and heard through a haze of smoke and booze fueled giddiness.
Joseph awoke the next day unsure of whether it had all been a dream, but Annabeth reassured him.
(Click here for a song; you may even hear a line from the story.)
She’ll either come or she won’t, he thought. It’s open mic night and people will play music and either she’ll be here or she won’t. I’ll be on this barstool or in the bathroom but I won’t be anywhere else until I’m in bed and that’s all there is to it.
“Another?”
“Huh?”
“Another Maker’s?”
Joseph raised his head, squinted, made a fist and stuck up his thumb and then lowered it toward his empty glass, as if his hand were a bottle.
The bartender poured and he eyed his drink as some guys breezed in and sat at a corner table. A new, buzzing undercurrent began to flow throughout the bar, a sort of lo-fi hum of blended conversations rising in volume. Joseph felt it hypnotize him.
“I think they opened for Radiohead in Camden tonight,” he overheard the young lady to his left try to whisper.
“They know one of the guys who cooks here,” someone else mumbled.
“Hi there!” It was Annabeth’s voice, she came after all. How much time had passed?
“Hi,” he said, expressionless, suddenly at ease.
“Did you get my texts?”
“Oh, sorry, no. Drink?”
“Sure.”
“How was your evening?”
Annabeth laughed, shook her head.
He thought of asking what she’d been doing, why she didn’t come sooner. But all he said was, “It’s got a nice ring when you laugh.”
“You got any extra guitars we could borrow?” one of the guys from the corner table who looked vaguely familiar to Joseph, tall and lean, asked the bartender. The answer was an emphatic “yes.” Soon open mic night was over, transformed into a surprise mini-concert seen and heard through a haze of smoke and booze fueled giddiness.
Joseph awoke the next day unsure of whether it had all been a dream, but Annabeth reassured him.
(Click here for a song; you may even hear a line from the story.)
Reconnaissance
As Joseph jumped up the subway steps at City Hall, he marveled at how long it’d been since he last set foot near Rittenhouse Square. One could live an entire lifetime between Northern Liberties and Fishtown, he thought.
Even now he only came this way out of necessity, on a rescue mission he feared would become nothing more than reconnaissance, said fear stemming from the following text message exchange with Annabeth after she didn’t answer either of his calls:
Joseph: When you coming to JB?
Annabeth: Probably not but come to McG!
JB stood for Johnny Brenda’s. A bar stool there having cushioned Joseph’s backside for the previous three hours, he and Garret and Suki waiting to hear from Annabeth about when she’d be joining them, Joseph felt toasty during his midnight trek on the Market-Frankford line. At first Joseph thought McG meant McGillin’s, but then he remembered that Billy was a smoker, so it had to be McGlinchey’s.
Joseph strode through McGlinchey’s doorway and spotted them right away through the smoke filled haze. They sat in a booth on the left side of the bar, Annabeth beside Billy, a young guy with long hair Joseph had met a few times seated across from them. Joseph cringed, swallowed his pride, and sat next to the guy whose name he’d never remember.
“Hi,” he managed a smile as he waved at them all.
Annabeth looked in his direction, a devilish face, cigarette between her left index and middle fingers. Billy exhaled and shook Joseph’s hand. The young guy, who’d been jabbering away as Joseph joined them, said, “Yo dude,” and then kept talking. Music blared, an old Velvet Underground tune, Lou Reed’s voice floating indiscriminately among the crowd, through the smoke.
When the kid stopped to breathe, Joseph said, “I’m gonna grab a drink, anyone in need?”
Billy answered, “I think we all could use one.” The others nodded. “Shot and a beer, you choose.”
A tall, slender bar tender with tattoos in various places, the one of a diamond on her left breast in particular catching Joseph’s unwitting eye, asked, “What can I get you?”
“Four Miller Lites and four shots of Jameson.”
He paid the fifteen bucks he owed and left a five dollar tip, carried the drinks back to the booth in two trips.
“Thank you much,” Billy said.
“Yeah, thanks dude,” the young chatterbox offered.
“Since when do you smoke?” Joseph asked Annabeth.
“From time to time,” she said airily.
“I didn’t know.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Joe.”
Joseph caught a smirk on Billy’s face.
“Excuse me,” Annabeth said as she rose. She looked back at Joseph and winked as she entered the Ladies room.
The music changed and now Nick Lowe sang, ‘Cruel To Be Kind.’
Raising his shot glass, his Yoda tattoo purposefully visible to the others, Joseph indicated for them to raise theirs. The three men threw back their Jamesons.
“So Billy,” Joseph managed to start before the kid could talk again. “You head back to Chicago at all?”
“Naaahhh,” Billy drew out. “No way to get back. Besides, Philly’s been too much fun.”
The long haired kid stayed quiet for a refreshing few moments and Joseph heard the music say, ‘it’s a very very very good sign’ just as Annabeth returned from the restroom.
She sat and pushed her shot over to Joseph. “You want mine too?” She asked. “I don’t need this.”
The whiskey went down the hatch and Joseph felt his buzz kick up a notch, watched an anthropomorphic red glass ashtray throw a punch across Billy’s face. He knew then it was time for him to head home.
“Well I was just in the neighborhood so wanted to stop in for a drink, but I gotta go.”
Annabeth eyed him quizzically, knowing he’d actually just been four neighborhoods away.
Goodbyes were said and Joseph hoped he’d catch the train before it stopped running for the night, save the eight dollar difference between that and cab fare. He decided not to call Annabeth for a few days, give her a little space.
(Listen to the original version of Nick Lowe's 'Cruel To Be Kind' here. For a live version performed with Wilco last month, click here.)
Even now he only came this way out of necessity, on a rescue mission he feared would become nothing more than reconnaissance, said fear stemming from the following text message exchange with Annabeth after she didn’t answer either of his calls:
Joseph: When you coming to JB?
Annabeth: Probably not but come to McG!
JB stood for Johnny Brenda’s. A bar stool there having cushioned Joseph’s backside for the previous three hours, he and Garret and Suki waiting to hear from Annabeth about when she’d be joining them, Joseph felt toasty during his midnight trek on the Market-Frankford line. At first Joseph thought McG meant McGillin’s, but then he remembered that Billy was a smoker, so it had to be McGlinchey’s.
Joseph strode through McGlinchey’s doorway and spotted them right away through the smoke filled haze. They sat in a booth on the left side of the bar, Annabeth beside Billy, a young guy with long hair Joseph had met a few times seated across from them. Joseph cringed, swallowed his pride, and sat next to the guy whose name he’d never remember.
“Hi,” he managed a smile as he waved at them all.
Annabeth looked in his direction, a devilish face, cigarette between her left index and middle fingers. Billy exhaled and shook Joseph’s hand. The young guy, who’d been jabbering away as Joseph joined them, said, “Yo dude,” and then kept talking. Music blared, an old Velvet Underground tune, Lou Reed’s voice floating indiscriminately among the crowd, through the smoke.
When the kid stopped to breathe, Joseph said, “I’m gonna grab a drink, anyone in need?”
Billy answered, “I think we all could use one.” The others nodded. “Shot and a beer, you choose.”
A tall, slender bar tender with tattoos in various places, the one of a diamond on her left breast in particular catching Joseph’s unwitting eye, asked, “What can I get you?”
“Four Miller Lites and four shots of Jameson.”
He paid the fifteen bucks he owed and left a five dollar tip, carried the drinks back to the booth in two trips.
“Thank you much,” Billy said.
“Yeah, thanks dude,” the young chatterbox offered.
“Since when do you smoke?” Joseph asked Annabeth.
“From time to time,” she said airily.
“I didn’t know.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Joe.”
Joseph caught a smirk on Billy’s face.
“Excuse me,” Annabeth said as she rose. She looked back at Joseph and winked as she entered the Ladies room.
The music changed and now Nick Lowe sang, ‘Cruel To Be Kind.’
Raising his shot glass, his Yoda tattoo purposefully visible to the others, Joseph indicated for them to raise theirs. The three men threw back their Jamesons.
“So Billy,” Joseph managed to start before the kid could talk again. “You head back to Chicago at all?”
“Naaahhh,” Billy drew out. “No way to get back. Besides, Philly’s been too much fun.”
The long haired kid stayed quiet for a refreshing few moments and Joseph heard the music say, ‘it’s a very very very good sign’ just as Annabeth returned from the restroom.
She sat and pushed her shot over to Joseph. “You want mine too?” She asked. “I don’t need this.”
The whiskey went down the hatch and Joseph felt his buzz kick up a notch, watched an anthropomorphic red glass ashtray throw a punch across Billy’s face. He knew then it was time for him to head home.
“Well I was just in the neighborhood so wanted to stop in for a drink, but I gotta go.”
Annabeth eyed him quizzically, knowing he’d actually just been four neighborhoods away.
Goodbyes were said and Joseph hoped he’d catch the train before it stopped running for the night, save the eight dollar difference between that and cab fare. He decided not to call Annabeth for a few days, give her a little space.
(Listen to the original version of Nick Lowe's 'Cruel To Be Kind' here. For a live version performed with Wilco last month, click here.)
Whisky Cleansing
“Since we can’t hang on your birthday next week, I brought over a present.” Garret presented Joseph with a bottle of Maker’s 46.
“Thanks dude.”
“You’re welcome.”
Joseph handed Garret a PBR and grabbed one for himself.
“Play some heads up?”
“Okay.”
Each man shuffled a deck of cards and counted out an equal number of chips. In their regular ring game with friends they played dealer’s choice, but one-on-one they only played No Limit Hold ‘Em, tournament style for a fixed amount.
After an hour they’d each won a game and had a couple of beers.
“Why don’t we open the bottle you brought over? Just to try it.”
“No arguments here man, I just thought you might like to save it for some other time.”
“Nah, let’s open it.”
Joseph opened the bottled and poured a glass for each of them, neat.
Another hour passed.
“This stuff is so smooth. Just plain Maker’s is so smooth, but this stuff is . . . I don’t wanna say ‘better,’ but they’ve outdone themselves with it,” Garret said.
“Yeah man.”
An hour later, “Joe, you’re just not a good poker player. Let’s play again, I own you.”
“How can you say that after you just bluffed away all your chips?”
Garret snickered. “I read you right, you shoulda never called with bottom pair.”
“But you had nothing. It was the right call, I beat you.”
“Yeah but I could’ve had something. You’ll see next time. Shuffle up.”
“Hang on, I’ll pour us another.” Joseph walked to the kitchen with their glasses. “Garret, you know there’s only about a third of this bottle left.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
“We can finish it.”
“That would be dumb.”
The game devolved into a display not much unlike two card guts, rarely seeing a flop before they were both all in. When Joseph poured the last of the bottle, Garret tossed his deck aside, knocking over his remaining chips.
“I owe you $8. I’ll pay you later.”
“I don’t care about the money, Garret. The joy lies in victory.”
“Good, then I won’t pay you later.”
Joseph raised his glass, “To the remnants of this beloved bottle, Mr. 46, you were delicious.”
“May the juice cleanse our souls.”
The doorbell rang. As Joseph rose to see who was there, he realized for the first time that he was very drunk, his perception falling into a familiar blur. It was Annabeth. He’d forgotten she said she might stay over.
“You guys got wasted, what’s wrong with you?” Annabeth laughed as she asked, but her tone disapproved.
Joseph, concentrating hard to avoid slurring his speech, offered, “Sometimes people drink a whole bottle of 46.”
“I’ll just be on my way now,” Garret said as he stood to walk home.
Annabeth fell asleep disappointed, Joseph barely making it to the bed. The next day he felt horrible, nausea and a splitting headache barely affected by ibuprofen, wondering why. Annabeth thought perhaps her boyfriend was an alcoholic.
“Thanks dude.”
“You’re welcome.”
Joseph handed Garret a PBR and grabbed one for himself.
“Play some heads up?”
“Okay.”
Each man shuffled a deck of cards and counted out an equal number of chips. In their regular ring game with friends they played dealer’s choice, but one-on-one they only played No Limit Hold ‘Em, tournament style for a fixed amount.
After an hour they’d each won a game and had a couple of beers.
“Why don’t we open the bottle you brought over? Just to try it.”
“No arguments here man, I just thought you might like to save it for some other time.”
“Nah, let’s open it.”
Joseph opened the bottled and poured a glass for each of them, neat.
Another hour passed.
“This stuff is so smooth. Just plain Maker’s is so smooth, but this stuff is . . . I don’t wanna say ‘better,’ but they’ve outdone themselves with it,” Garret said.
“Yeah man.”
An hour later, “Joe, you’re just not a good poker player. Let’s play again, I own you.”
“How can you say that after you just bluffed away all your chips?”
Garret snickered. “I read you right, you shoulda never called with bottom pair.”
“But you had nothing. It was the right call, I beat you.”
“Yeah but I could’ve had something. You’ll see next time. Shuffle up.”
“Hang on, I’ll pour us another.” Joseph walked to the kitchen with their glasses. “Garret, you know there’s only about a third of this bottle left.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
“We can finish it.”
“That would be dumb.”
The game devolved into a display not much unlike two card guts, rarely seeing a flop before they were both all in. When Joseph poured the last of the bottle, Garret tossed his deck aside, knocking over his remaining chips.
“I owe you $8. I’ll pay you later.”
“I don’t care about the money, Garret. The joy lies in victory.”
“Good, then I won’t pay you later.”
Joseph raised his glass, “To the remnants of this beloved bottle, Mr. 46, you were delicious.”
“May the juice cleanse our souls.”
The doorbell rang. As Joseph rose to see who was there, he realized for the first time that he was very drunk, his perception falling into a familiar blur. It was Annabeth. He’d forgotten she said she might stay over.
“You guys got wasted, what’s wrong with you?” Annabeth laughed as she asked, but her tone disapproved.
Joseph, concentrating hard to avoid slurring his speech, offered, “Sometimes people drink a whole bottle of 46.”
“I’ll just be on my way now,” Garret said as he stood to walk home.
Annabeth fell asleep disappointed, Joseph barely making it to the bed. The next day he felt horrible, nausea and a splitting headache barely affected by ibuprofen, wondering why. Annabeth thought perhaps her boyfriend was an alcoholic.
Cornhole at the Keep
“What’s going on out there?” Some dude, standing in the doorway by the pool table, asked in the general direction of Garret and Joseph.
“It’s Tuesday night,” was Garret’s reply.
The dude stood there, uncomprehending, for long enough to prompt Joseph to say, “Cornhole.”
“Oh, right on,” said the dude, who grabbed a buddy of his, walked outside and around the back corner of The Druid’s Keep, and wrote their names on the white dry erase board, putting them fifth in line for a game.
Annabeth sat at a table outside with her friend, Eliza, sipping a $2 can of PBR, deep in thought.
“Are there, like, way more catastrophes nowadays than ever before? Or do we just have much faster and wider access to news, so it just seems that way?”
“I don’t know,” Eliza replied, “I think it’s both. I mean, we have nuclear power plants and deep sea oil rigs . . . they didn’t have that stuff a hundred years ago. And we also hear about everything in real time, which didn’t used to be possible.”
“It’s so depressing.”
On the two cornhole sets, one of the games moved slowly and the other hardly saw a bag miss the board. Mark and his ‘Kleenex Method,’ so called because he held the bag between two fingers and his thumb and just flicked his wrist ever so slightly, like someone pulling tissue from a box, dominated on the near court.
But it was Mark’s partner, Drew, who caused everyone to start shouting when he sunk four bags in a row to seal the game.
“Next! Bring ‘em on.” Drew called out as he and Mark slapped hands.
The Phillies defended their division lead, projected high and large onto an unpainted cinder block wall outside by the cornhole games, against the Braves while a cop watched from his car on the corner. Some people left the bar and took a walk and grabbed a slice of pizza and brought it back to the bar and ate it there. The night sky had a light blue hue to it, moonlight reflecting off the city and merging with city lights, shining down on that happy corner bar in their corner of the world.
“It’s Tuesday night,” was Garret’s reply.
The dude stood there, uncomprehending, for long enough to prompt Joseph to say, “Cornhole.”
“Oh, right on,” said the dude, who grabbed a buddy of his, walked outside and around the back corner of The Druid’s Keep, and wrote their names on the white dry erase board, putting them fifth in line for a game.
Annabeth sat at a table outside with her friend, Eliza, sipping a $2 can of PBR, deep in thought.
“Are there, like, way more catastrophes nowadays than ever before? Or do we just have much faster and wider access to news, so it just seems that way?”
“I don’t know,” Eliza replied, “I think it’s both. I mean, we have nuclear power plants and deep sea oil rigs . . . they didn’t have that stuff a hundred years ago. And we also hear about everything in real time, which didn’t used to be possible.”
“It’s so depressing.”
On the two cornhole sets, one of the games moved slowly and the other hardly saw a bag miss the board. Mark and his ‘Kleenex Method,’ so called because he held the bag between two fingers and his thumb and just flicked his wrist ever so slightly, like someone pulling tissue from a box, dominated on the near court.
But it was Mark’s partner, Drew, who caused everyone to start shouting when he sunk four bags in a row to seal the game.
“Next! Bring ‘em on.” Drew called out as he and Mark slapped hands.
The Phillies defended their division lead, projected high and large onto an unpainted cinder block wall outside by the cornhole games, against the Braves while a cop watched from his car on the corner. Some people left the bar and took a walk and grabbed a slice of pizza and brought it back to the bar and ate it there. The night sky had a light blue hue to it, moonlight reflecting off the city and merging with city lights, shining down on that happy corner bar in their corner of the world.
First Date
Joseph took a tater tot, dipped it in hot sauce, and dropped it into his mouth. He laughed like a schoolboy, still chewing, before lashing out with a loud “La la la la, la, la la la” as Bob Dylan’s "The Man In Me" began.
Garret, having just readied his fingers and wrist to roll, turned and gave him a harsh look. “Dude, you’re distracting me, please shut up.”
Suki and Annabeth, three seats away from the tot chomping, sudden crooner, halted their chat, slightly shocked to hear Joseph’s singing voice. They peered over at him and he, expectant of their attention, winked. The ladies simultaneously squinted, caught themselves displaying the same expression, and then burst out in laughter of their own.
Be careful, Joseph, he reminded himself, aware of his growing buzz. This is going well, don’t screw it up.
“Come on,” Joseph said, “you gotta love that they’re playing this song. I mean, you gotta love Lebowski.”
Annabeth said, “Yeah, I do love it. At most other bowling alleys most other times I’d think it’s uber cheesy to play this song, but here I think it’s cool they don’t think they’re too cool to play it, you know?” Joseph could tell that she was pretty buzzed too.
“I think I know exactly what you mean. This place has become somewhat of a spot, not just to bowl, and this song, far from hipster hop or whatever else . . . it just says ‘dude, let’s go bowling,’ only because of the movie, of course. . . .”
“What’s hipster hop?” she asked.
“. . .”
“That’s deep, dude,” Garret said as he sat down and poured from their pitcher of PBR. “If you can take a quick break from philosophizing, you’re up.”
Joseph stood, found his ball, rolled it straight down the middle of the lane. His hopes for a strike came to a crescendo just as Dylan belted, “But oh, what a wonderful feeling. . . .” He watched as all of the pins fell in unison, all but one pin just teetering on its outer edges, spinning slowly on its axis, forever wobbling while Joseph watched it from a crouched position, his desire to flash Garret a huge post-strike smile growing exponentially with every millisecond that passed until, at long last, the pin remained standing.
The bowler turned back to his friends and shrugged. Garret smirked, Suki didn’t budge, and Annabeth gave him a full, toothy smile.
As he retook his seat, Joseph, glad to have found the napkin where he’d scrawled Annabeth’s number on the night they met, ate another tater tot.
(Listen to Boy Dylan's 'The Man In Me' here)
Garret, having just readied his fingers and wrist to roll, turned and gave him a harsh look. “Dude, you’re distracting me, please shut up.”
Suki and Annabeth, three seats away from the tot chomping, sudden crooner, halted their chat, slightly shocked to hear Joseph’s singing voice. They peered over at him and he, expectant of their attention, winked. The ladies simultaneously squinted, caught themselves displaying the same expression, and then burst out in laughter of their own.
Be careful, Joseph, he reminded himself, aware of his growing buzz. This is going well, don’t screw it up.
“Come on,” Joseph said, “you gotta love that they’re playing this song. I mean, you gotta love Lebowski.”
Annabeth said, “Yeah, I do love it. At most other bowling alleys most other times I’d think it’s uber cheesy to play this song, but here I think it’s cool they don’t think they’re too cool to play it, you know?” Joseph could tell that she was pretty buzzed too.
“I think I know exactly what you mean. This place has become somewhat of a spot, not just to bowl, and this song, far from hipster hop or whatever else . . . it just says ‘dude, let’s go bowling,’ only because of the movie, of course. . . .”
“What’s hipster hop?” she asked.
“. . .”
“That’s deep, dude,” Garret said as he sat down and poured from their pitcher of PBR. “If you can take a quick break from philosophizing, you’re up.”
Joseph stood, found his ball, rolled it straight down the middle of the lane. His hopes for a strike came to a crescendo just as Dylan belted, “But oh, what a wonderful feeling. . . .” He watched as all of the pins fell in unison, all but one pin just teetering on its outer edges, spinning slowly on its axis, forever wobbling while Joseph watched it from a crouched position, his desire to flash Garret a huge post-strike smile growing exponentially with every millisecond that passed until, at long last, the pin remained standing.
The bowler turned back to his friends and shrugged. Garret smirked, Suki didn’t budge, and Annabeth gave him a full, toothy smile.
As he retook his seat, Joseph, glad to have found the napkin where he’d scrawled Annabeth’s number on the night they met, ate another tater tot.
(Listen to Boy Dylan's 'The Man In Me' here)
Annabeth
Annabeth rolls onto her back and looks up into the perfectly clear blue sky. Some days, she thinks, nature just demands that we be outside. No specific purpose necessary. A breeze blowing through her hair and the sun warming her body are enough, today.
Two young men walk down Frankford Ave and she hears them laughing aloud, one punches the other and runs a few steps ahead and they call each other names until they're out of sight. A pregnant young woman pushes a giggling toddler around in a stroller. An octogenarian couple walks gingerly to the former Neumann Medical Center on the corner, now an assisted living facility. Annabeth watches them all.
She sits up and pulls her knees to her chest and then sinks down again onto her back, stretches her arms and legs as far as they'll go, like that famous da Vinci drawing, enjoying the feel of Palmer Park's cool grass against her bare arms and lower legs.
Many a male poker player assumes she deals cards for a living because she wants to meet him. She’s accustomed to being hit on just about anywhere she goes.
A guy with tattoo sleeves walks his Rottweiler across the small park and for a moment she thinks it's that bartender guy with the Yoda tattoo. She's surprised by a feeling of disappointment when she realizes it's not him. After all, he's just another drunk dumb enough to ask her back to his apartment within hours of meeting her, even after she'd given him her number and made it clear he should call her some other time.
She picks at the grass in front of her and throws it. What would she do if he calls, she wonders? The bar was crazy that night and when a couple of meaty dudes became belligerent over nothing at all, she loved the way he handled it, staring at them calmly, somehow displaying great strength in his passivity. She didn't take him for the type to pursue her so aggressively after last call when she’d stuck around waiting for her sister to stop talking to that Garret guy.
If he's at Drew's party Saturday night, she decides, she'll consider letting him talk to her.
She rolls over onto her chest and rests her chin upon her knuckles, smiles and waves back at a young boy and girl who pass.
Two young men walk down Frankford Ave and she hears them laughing aloud, one punches the other and runs a few steps ahead and they call each other names until they're out of sight. A pregnant young woman pushes a giggling toddler around in a stroller. An octogenarian couple walks gingerly to the former Neumann Medical Center on the corner, now an assisted living facility. Annabeth watches them all.
She sits up and pulls her knees to her chest and then sinks down again onto her back, stretches her arms and legs as far as they'll go, like that famous da Vinci drawing, enjoying the feel of Palmer Park's cool grass against her bare arms and lower legs.
Many a male poker player assumes she deals cards for a living because she wants to meet him. She’s accustomed to being hit on just about anywhere she goes.
A guy with tattoo sleeves walks his Rottweiler across the small park and for a moment she thinks it's that bartender guy with the Yoda tattoo. She's surprised by a feeling of disappointment when she realizes it's not him. After all, he's just another drunk dumb enough to ask her back to his apartment within hours of meeting her, even after she'd given him her number and made it clear he should call her some other time.
She picks at the grass in front of her and throws it. What would she do if he calls, she wonders? The bar was crazy that night and when a couple of meaty dudes became belligerent over nothing at all, she loved the way he handled it, staring at them calmly, somehow displaying great strength in his passivity. She didn't take him for the type to pursue her so aggressively after last call when she’d stuck around waiting for her sister to stop talking to that Garret guy.
If he's at Drew's party Saturday night, she decides, she'll consider letting him talk to her.
She rolls over onto her chest and rests her chin upon her knuckles, smiles and waves back at a young boy and girl who pass.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)