He dug the name of the bar

it was clever

it was one of the reasons why he went there why he spent his money to support a local endeavor

hed bleed for a local place before hed walk into any corporate establishment

 

that  

       and its selection of craft beers

he was hitting back at all his lopsided friends who were up to their blinking eyeballs in their posh vineyards  their wines  their vintages noses and legs 

what the hell was with those little fucking fingers on their hands  sticking out  as they sipped

and sipping  the fuck     

                        he wanted something he could quaff or guzzle and wipe off on his sleeve

a little finger

lose a thumb 

now youre talking real troubles

that wasnt to say that troubles didnt rear their ugly heads in cleverly named bars

his trouble had a name too

Reginald                  he went by Reginald

supposedly you werent – according to regulars – even dare ask him if you might shorten his name to Reggie

despite Reginald shortening everyone elses name to suit his taste

he didnt asked the regulars

he overheard them

and being himself to a T

before Reginald got the drop on him

as he witnessed happening to others a couple three other times hed been in the bar prior

Reginald skulked  sneaked at the edges with the wiles of a hungry coyote  scouting the unfamiliar territory  not nefariously  inappropriately  before coming face to face with a newcomer

he was preemptive

Reginald wasnt happy he beat him to the punch

the regulars werent either

so much for cliques

 

he liked it when they spasm  and couldnt snap their fingers from the height of their barstools

unlike the fiction of Cheers

where everybody knows your name and theyre always glad you came

they could save that crap for those who would listen

he didnt have time

--   So Reggie

--   Excuse me Nobody calls me Reggie

--   They really suffer dragging it out to Reginald

--   Thats the name my father gave me if he wanted me to be called Reggie he would have named me Reggie

--   So your father had a sense of humor that didnt follow him eh

--   Eh

My father was humorless  He cuckolded  And was a drunk

--   Cuckold  Cant say Ive had many conversations where cuckold has reared up

Your father died when you were young

--   Who are you to talk to me of my father

--   Thats the name my father gave me  you said

You brought him up

--   I think youve gotten off on the wrong foot up off the wrong side of the horse

--   Well  I cant possibly call you Reginald

 

Got a nickname

--   Reginald

--   End of conversation

--   I didnt get your name

--   No  You didnt and theres no need of introductions now either

You be who you are  and Ill be me

Reginald sneered

the regulars sneered

 

he was alleviated of braying and could enjoy his beer
thats what he came to enjoy anyways

though he wasnt being entirely fair  and he knew it  but sometimes you can read the writing on the wall and if anarchy is misspelled or the printing is nearing graffiti

best keep it at arms length  your back to a wall  and facing the door

he overheard Reginald   --   he laughed   --   talking about lovers

he had an inherent mistrust of anyone who talked about    their lovers

he met a woman in another bar once who saddled in bedside him and launched into her success as a personal consultant

she was there that night celebrating her lovers birthday  Hes at that table

he was sitting just over his right shoulder  Then why are you here

Because you seem like someone who would recognise the value of a personal consultant

Youre attractive  well put together  but I wouldnt have friends Id have to pay for

the violation swelled gorgeously in her eyes

then he thought hed tip the pot

                                                  Are you soliciting me  Is your lover your pimp

BOOM she was up and six feet behind him outraged  sputtering to her lover and it wasnt as if her lover was going to have a choice in the matter

he had offended her

and she was the kind of woman whose offenses had to be defended and offenders punished

but he was preemptive

coming off the bench he sat on

his hand firmly at the benchs back he bunched his fist and threw a haymaker her lover eagerly rushed  into

it wasnt a fair fight

it wasnt a fight

it was a better than six foot blonde on his back entering a nonfiction in the Twilight Zone

  

he wanted to speed her along after him but figured things usually didnt work out this way for her and they were going to task and stretch every last bit of her skill and shallow reserves

he didnt go to bars to make friends

he went there for what he deemed were adult reasons

to share a drink with a friend or have a drink while he read a magazine newspaper  a book  do a crossword  or talk  vicariously  with an absent old friend by wrioting them a letter

somehow

                he was never innocuous or a wallflower

 

1345,  Friday,  23 1. 15