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A Bad Night It was one of those nights when things didn’t feel right and I wandered the streets feeling generally bad in search of a quiet place to drink beer and listen to sad music on the jukebox. I found a place that looked okay and got a stool and a beer and things were alright for a little while until a fellow sat down next to me and started to talk he was middle aged and red faced and looked as if he spent most of his waking hours in bars I ignored him as best I could until it was finally impossible. You work at that one place, right, the music store? Yes, I replied in a way meant to suggest I had no desire to discuss the matter any further. I bet you listen to a lot of music, he said. I guess so. What kind of music you listen to? I dunno. Lot’s of stuff. You like punk rock, the Clash and shit? Sure. You like the Floyd? Led Zeppelin? Floyd, yeah. Fuck Zeppelin. You wear a lot of Black. You like Johnny Cash? Sure. What about Elvis? Costello? Naw, man, Presley. Elvis. The King. I don’t care about Elvis, I said. You look like somebody who likes Elvis. Fuck Elvis. You like to swing dance? No, man. Look, no offence, but can we please stop talking now? You can’t have a haircut like that and not like to swing dance. LOOK MAN COULD YOU PLEASE STOP TALKING TO ME? I’M TRYING TO SIT HERE AND DRINK MY BEER. I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT MUSIC OR ELVIS OR ANYTHING ELSE. I JUST WANT TO BE QUIET AND DRINK MY BEER AND YOU ARE PREVENTING ME FROM DOING THAT. Ah, shit, it’s cool, man. I’m just making conversation, that’s all. Please stop talking now. The man gave me a funny look as if he had never met anyone in a bar who didn’t want to talk to him then got up walked a few stools down and started in with somebody else. Things were okay again I was able to finish my beer and order another before someone else sat down beside me. He was a Mexican, maybe 25 or so he seemed rather agitated he held pieces of paper in his hands and read them over and over. He started talking at me as well his English wasn’t very good and what he said made very little sense. It seems he had been accused of some crime or another and I wasn’t sure if it was rape, murder or simply being a peeping Tom but I’m pretty sure it was one of those three. He was due in court the next morning. They said I was there but I was not, he said. That’s bad, I replied. I was not there, he said. It seemed important to him that I believed in his innocence and I told him I did but when I looked in his eyes I wasn’t so sure. It’s the cops, he said, they don’t like Mexicans they want to get me. That’s bad, I said. This proves that I was not there, he said, showing me the papers in his hands. That’s good, I said. Look, look, he said. I looked at the papers and they looked like various receipts from various places for various objects he shows me where he signed them. See, he said, see? Okay, I said. This will prove, right? His voice had an edge of desperation that made me nervous. I guess, so, I said. Look, I have to go to the bathroom. He eyed me suspiciously. But you will come back here, right? You will come back and sit here? Okay, I said. I walked to the back of the bar used the bathroom then slipped out the back door. I picked a direction and walked. You know it’s a bad night when you can’t even find a bar to be lonely in. |