Harry, Ginger, and TGC Tours fight the Illuminati
Mar 25, 2016 10:32:56 GMT -5
Crazy Croc, joegolferg, and 2 more like this
Post by Harry Hates Golf on Mar 25, 2016 10:32:56 GMT -5
It was dark in the bar, and I was thankful to be here.
I was sitting at The Drinker’s Hall of Fame, a dive bar that is not noticed by general society. It was closer to closing time than it was to midnight. There was still enough time to enjoy the burn of another whiskey on ice. I raised my hand slightly, hoping to catch the bartender’s attention.
Earlier in the day, I had left the house after getting a call that a family was in need of my services. I had been practicing shots at the Magnolia National Golf Course on The Golf Club game and wondering who was the insipid dickwad that chose the courses that were to be played on the TGC Tours. Whoever it was, they must have been a goddamn gopher or beaver in a past life, because they sure loved holes in the side of hills. I had been fighting every sloping green that the course had to offer, withholding my desire to grab the nearest bottle or whiskey or tequila and start pouring down my gullet. It was still in the morning hours when I was practicing, and I wanted to wait at least until the earlier afternoon before I entered into the land of drunken sobbing.
I had just finished Hole #10 when my Samsung began to ring. I looked down at the smartphone’s screen and saw the name of “MORTradio” as the incoming call. I considered ignoring the call, and enjoyed the temptation for a moment. I couldn’t ignore the call, though. The guilt would have screwed up my shitty gameplay even more. A family needed me, and even though I may have cursed them for their interruption, it’s what I signed on to do. I answered the phone.
“What do you want, you vicious bastard,” I shouted into the phone. “You already suck enough of the life-force out of me. Don’t you realize that I am on the ebb of an important sociological discovery regarding social interaction gameplay!”
“Oh, Harry, I sorry,” said the voice on the other end of the phone. It was Ginger, the receptionist of MORTradio. “I didn’t want to call you, but the boss said to call you and no one else.”
“The only purpose of why the boss had you call me is to interrupt my gameplay,” I said to Ginger.
“I really didn’t want to call you,” Ginger said. “I had no other choice. I’m really sorry.”
“Sorry my squeezable ass,” I said. “You’re a part of it as well. You, the boss, everyone at MORTradio, are part of the Illuminati. Your whole mission is to prevent my studies. All of you could see me forming Secondary Groups at TGC Tours, developing them into Primary Groups, which would lead to Dyads, the driving force behind destroying the Illuminati! It’s all so obvious now.”
“What is?” asked Ginger.
“Are you a succubus, Ginger?” I asked. “A she wolf for the soon-to-come FEMA camps? How much are they paying you, Ginger?”
“Harry….” she began to say. I cut her off.
“HOW MUCH!?!”
“No one is paying me anything,” Ginger said desperately. “I would never do that to you. I know you’re a special kind of guy and that you do so much for the families that we help.”
“You’re recording our conversation, aren’t you?” I chuckled at this knowledge. “That’s fine, Ginger. Why don’t you record this. TGC Tours hasn’t sold out yet. They haven’t sold out like MORTradio did. The scent of the Illuminati doesn’t linger there. The dyads are still being formed, and WE WILL CRUSH THE ELITIST VERMIN SCUM OF THE ILLUMINATI! THEY WILL BURN LIKE THE HINDENBURG!!!”
“Oh Harry,” said Ginger, her voice trembling as though on the verge of tears. “The fire of your passion and dedication to society touches my heart so deeply.”
“Control yourself, Ginger,” I said. “The Illuminati feeds off weakness.”
“I’m sorry,” Ginger said, sniffling. “I didn’t mean to get emotional.”
“That’s all right, Ginger,” I said. “Women are naturally emotional beasts who are all overcooked oatmeal north of the eyebrows. It’s to be expected.”
“Thank you, Harry.”
“I have a lot of burden, Ginger, but I’ll always be here to help.”
“Help this family,” Ginger said, her voice a plea. “The boss said you were the guy he wanted on this job. He said you were the only one who could do the job.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard it before,” I said. “MORTradio gives you a reach-around while they stab you in the back. Thanks for the handjob, now let me die. Vicious bastards, all of them.”
Ginger giggled.
“Oh, Harry,” she said. “You’re just so blunt sometimes. You make my cheeks so flushed and warm.”
“Rein that in, young lady,” I said to her. “There’s only one horse I ride in this town. You know that.”
“Yes, I’ve accepted that,” Ginger said, a hint of sadness gracing her tone. “Helen’s very lucky. I just….I just sometime….”
“Shut up, you minx,” I said sternly. “The vixen in your blood is strong. I can’t be bothered with this annoyance. If you want to help me then you have to support me, not suffocate me with your needs and desires.”
“What can I do to help?” asked Ginger. “I can wear shorter skirts. Garters and hose? More lipstick?”
I shook my head in hopeless patience as I listened to her.
“No, Ginger. None of that will help me. I don’t need a gorgeous woman turning into a boy scout’s masturbation fantasy.”
“You think I’m gorgeous,” Ginger said happily.
“Good Lord, you vile creature,” I shouted at her over the phone. “I would they were for I might die at once, for now you kill me with a living death!”
“Oh, Harry, your prose,” Ginger said breathlessly. “You take my breath away. There are so many late nights when I think about you and….”
“Focus!” I shouted into the phone.
I could hear Ginger taking a deep breath, calming herself. “I’m sorry, Harry. I almost lost myself in my fantasy world. It won’t happen again.”
“You stupid fool,” I growled. “We are talking about the construction of FEMA death camps, and you’re wanting to fantasize about a night of good whiskey and unbridle, passionate sex!?! Get your priorities straight, woman! Don’t be like every other fat feminist out there who think the world should orbit around them.”
“I will do whatever I can to please you,” said Ginger. “That’s a promise.”
“How much cash do you have?” I asked.
“Geez, Harry. I have about a hundred bucks, I think.”
“What about credit cards?”
“I have the MORTradio business account credit card,” Ginger said.
“Thank God you have some form of currency,” I said with relief. “Now listen to me. On your lunch break, I want you to go down to the nearest Best Buy and purchase an Xbox One and an extra Xbox controller.”
I heard nothing from the other end of the phone. Had Ginger frozen in fear from the responsibility I had now laid on her? Had the hired thugs of the Illuminati been tapping our conversation and figured out what I was planning and sent a bullet from a sniper’s rifle into Ginger’s frontal lobe?
“Are you listen to me!?!” I screamed into the phone.
“Yes, Harry, yes,” said Ginger. “I’m was just jotting down notes. I know that this is important and I don’t want to mess anything up.”
“Good Jesus Lord Almighty, you oversexed hipster. We are on the verge of possibly eradicating the elite of the Illuminati. You damn well better not screw this sh%$ up, or all of us will end up in a FEMA camp that will make Dante’s Inferno look like a day at Disneyland.”
“Don’t worry,” said Ginger. “I always will have your back, Harry. Now, you want me to buy an Xbox One and an extra controller, right?”
“That’s right,” I said. “I also want you to buy The Golf Club game on Xbox One. Don’t be chatting anyone up. There might be some Illuminati thugs that might try flirting with you to distract you, so if anyone starts flirting with you just tell them you’re married to an autistic man and that if they don’t leave you alone, scream at the top of your lungs.”
“I will, Harry,” said Ginger. “By God, I will.”
“Just go into the Best Buy store, get what I told you to get, and then go home.” I pulled a cigarette from the pack that was in front of me and lit it, taking a drag before continuing. “Once you get your new Xbox One console up and running, I want you to register at the TGC Tours website. Don’t use your real name, though. Use a pseudonym.”
“What pseudonym should I use?” asked Ginger.
“Your TGC Tournament screen name should be….” I gave Ginger the name of her TGC Tours identity.
“Okay, Harry,” said Ginger. “Got it.”
I took another deep drag from my cigarette, laughing softly as I exhaled the soothing smoke. “I’ve known that TGC Tours has been infiltrated by the Illuminati for some time now. They have had their thugs playing the tournaments for some time now. It’s going to be a whole different ballgame now. Your covert actions, which will be directed by me, will be able to weed out these filthy bastards.”
“Oh, Harry,” said Ginger. “I know I can do this. I won’t let you down. It feels like the first time in my life I have a purpose, that I am not some dime-a-dozen girl.”
“And well you should feel that way,” I said to her. “This is an extremely important moment that you and I are sharing. With my well thought out plan and your covert actions, we will not only be able to prevent the Illuminati from infiltrating TGC Tours, but route them out from the entities of MORTradio and other capitalistic businesses, the same businesses that made this goddamn county great.”
“I knew you were a great man,” Ginger said. “My thoughts of you may have been impure, Harry, but they were set in the foundation of loyalty. Will you and I finally be able to work side by side?”
“FIGHT YOUR URGES WHILE IN HEAT, GINGER!” I crush out my cigarette in my already overflowing ashtray. I immediately lit another cigarette. “Don’t you see, you silly woman? The Illuminati have always focused on the Id, the needs and desires of the here and now. That’s how they have been able to undermine the strength of this county. If I was to fulfill your desire, it would be like we were building a FEMA camp!”
“I’m sorry,” Ginger said. “I cannot be so selfish. I must stop thinking of myself and dedicate myself to the greater good.”
“Use that Thigh Master you got for Christmas,” I told her, taking a drag off my cigarette. “It will help you.”
“I will, Harry,” said Ginger. “I’m going to go to Best Buy right now and buy that Xbox One and The Golf Club game.” She paused for a moment. “Harry, will you please help that family. The boss thinks you’re the only man for the job, and so do I.”
“Goddamn, you bastards!” I shouted. “You’re interrupting my TGC Tour event! This is the Masters Tournament Qualifying. This isn’t the usual asinine tour event that these bubbleheads usually put on. The sloping greens only are enough to make any man castrate himself in complete frustration! Bing Crosby died on a putting green, you know. Poor bastard was assassinated by the Illuminati!”
“Please, Harry,” pleaded Ginger. “Do it for me. Do it for MORTradio!”
“You people ought to be grateful for my work ethics,” I said. “Tell the boss that I’m changing and I’ll be on my way.”
“Thank you, Harry. MORTradio thanks you.”
“Yeah, your gratitude and a dollar bill will buy me a pack of chewing gum.”
I hung up the phone.
I slowing smoked the rest of my cigarette as I stood there, finally crushing it out in the ashtray after a few more drags off it. I began feeling a sharp pain within the partial-occipital region of my skull. The stress of having to deal with a family, as well as the needs of Ginger, MORTradio, and society as a whole, were weighing heavily on me. It was probably for the best that I help that family. I wouldn’t be able to focus my attention on my gameplay anyway. I knew that although I struggled greatly at times on the courses that were chosen by the vicious bastards of TGC Tours, I knew that my gameplay was still good enough to be respected, and that kept the elite of the Illuminati at bay.
I tossed my head back and began to laugh loudly, and then raised my fist into the air.
“Illuminati swine!” I shouted. “I know you can hear me! You shall not win! We, the average joe, the common man, the backbone of this great country, will triumph!”
I bent to one knee, my hands clasped in prayer.
“Like the Pontic Sea, whose icy current and compulsive course, never feels retiring ebb, but keeps due onto the Propontic and the Hellespont seas. Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, shall never look back, never ebb to humble love, till that a capable and wide revenge swallow them up. Now, by yond marble heaven, in the due reverence of a sacred vow I here engage my words, to destroy the clan of the Illuminati, to save our society, to offer sanctuary to the masses and allow them to join in the blessed brotherhood of the TGC. We will witness, by God in Heaven, the end of Illuminati and Big Brother. TGC will once again rise up from the ashes as though a phoenix. I am your own, forever!”
I stood.
Within a half hour, I was showered and dressed, heading out my door and to my car.
Many hours had passed now.
As I said, it was dark in the bar, and I was thankful to be here.
The bartender finally noticed me raising my hand.
“Another one, Harry?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
The bartender reached out and grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels. He poured the liquor over what remained of the ice in my glass. He put the bottle of Jack Daniels back where it belong and then wrapped his knuckles lightly on the surface of the bar.
“That one’s on the house,” the bartender said.
“Why thank you,” I said. I was exhausted, but the gesture did not elude or escape me. I smiled at the bartender.
“You do a lot of good,” the bartender said. “A lot of folks might not appreciate that, but I do.”
“Thank you for noticing,” I said.
The bartender smiled back at me and then went about his business.
And so, within the scheme of all things, this small moment of time between two people in a dive bar that is not noticed by general society had happened. A social interaction that was pleasant. It was always nice to be appreciated, even if no one knows what you have done.
I thought of Helen.
I knew what she had done to my life, and I appreciated her.
I smiled.
“Goddamn good woman,” I said softly to myself.
I raised my whiskey, sipping from the glass.
I was sitting at The Drinker’s Hall of Fame, a dive bar that is not noticed by general society. It was closer to closing time than it was to midnight. There was still enough time to enjoy the burn of another whiskey on ice. I raised my hand slightly, hoping to catch the bartender’s attention.
Earlier in the day, I had left the house after getting a call that a family was in need of my services. I had been practicing shots at the Magnolia National Golf Course on The Golf Club game and wondering who was the insipid dickwad that chose the courses that were to be played on the TGC Tours. Whoever it was, they must have been a goddamn gopher or beaver in a past life, because they sure loved holes in the side of hills. I had been fighting every sloping green that the course had to offer, withholding my desire to grab the nearest bottle or whiskey or tequila and start pouring down my gullet. It was still in the morning hours when I was practicing, and I wanted to wait at least until the earlier afternoon before I entered into the land of drunken sobbing.
William G. Pher
Green Designer for TGC and TGC Tours
I had just finished Hole #10 when my Samsung began to ring. I looked down at the smartphone’s screen and saw the name of “MORTradio” as the incoming call. I considered ignoring the call, and enjoyed the temptation for a moment. I couldn’t ignore the call, though. The guilt would have screwed up my shitty gameplay even more. A family needed me, and even though I may have cursed them for their interruption, it’s what I signed on to do. I answered the phone.
“What do you want, you vicious bastard,” I shouted into the phone. “You already suck enough of the life-force out of me. Don’t you realize that I am on the ebb of an important sociological discovery regarding social interaction gameplay!”
“Oh, Harry, I sorry,” said the voice on the other end of the phone. It was Ginger, the receptionist of MORTradio. “I didn’t want to call you, but the boss said to call you and no one else.”
“The only purpose of why the boss had you call me is to interrupt my gameplay,” I said to Ginger.
“I really didn’t want to call you,” Ginger said. “I had no other choice. I’m really sorry.”
“Sorry my squeezable ass,” I said. “You’re a part of it as well. You, the boss, everyone at MORTradio, are part of the Illuminati. Your whole mission is to prevent my studies. All of you could see me forming Secondary Groups at TGC Tours, developing them into Primary Groups, which would lead to Dyads, the driving force behind destroying the Illuminati! It’s all so obvious now.”
“What is?” asked Ginger.
Ginger, the receptionist for MORTradio
Types 120 wpm and can apply lipstick without needing a mirror
“Are you a succubus, Ginger?” I asked. “A she wolf for the soon-to-come FEMA camps? How much are they paying you, Ginger?”
“Harry….” she began to say. I cut her off.
“HOW MUCH!?!”
“No one is paying me anything,” Ginger said desperately. “I would never do that to you. I know you’re a special kind of guy and that you do so much for the families that we help.”
“You’re recording our conversation, aren’t you?” I chuckled at this knowledge. “That’s fine, Ginger. Why don’t you record this. TGC Tours hasn’t sold out yet. They haven’t sold out like MORTradio did. The scent of the Illuminati doesn’t linger there. The dyads are still being formed, and WE WILL CRUSH THE ELITIST VERMIN SCUM OF THE ILLUMINATI! THEY WILL BURN LIKE THE HINDENBURG!!!”
“Oh Harry,” said Ginger, her voice trembling as though on the verge of tears. “The fire of your passion and dedication to society touches my heart so deeply.”
“Control yourself, Ginger,” I said. “The Illuminati feeds off weakness.”
“I’m sorry,” Ginger said, sniffling. “I didn’t mean to get emotional.”
“That’s all right, Ginger,” I said. “Women are naturally emotional beasts who are all overcooked oatmeal north of the eyebrows. It’s to be expected.”
“Thank you, Harry.”
“I have a lot of burden, Ginger, but I’ll always be here to help.”
“Help this family,” Ginger said, her voice a plea. “The boss said you were the guy he wanted on this job. He said you were the only one who could do the job.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard it before,” I said. “MORTradio gives you a reach-around while they stab you in the back. Thanks for the handjob, now let me die. Vicious bastards, all of them.”
Ginger giggled.
“Oh, Harry,” she said. “You’re just so blunt sometimes. You make my cheeks so flushed and warm.”
“Rein that in, young lady,” I said to her. “There’s only one horse I ride in this town. You know that.”
“Yes, I’ve accepted that,” Ginger said, a hint of sadness gracing her tone. “Helen’s very lucky. I just….I just sometime….”
“Shut up, you minx,” I said sternly. “The vixen in your blood is strong. I can’t be bothered with this annoyance. If you want to help me then you have to support me, not suffocate me with your needs and desires.”
“What can I do to help?” asked Ginger. “I can wear shorter skirts. Garters and hose? More lipstick?”
I shook my head in hopeless patience as I listened to her.
“No, Ginger. None of that will help me. I don’t need a gorgeous woman turning into a boy scout’s masturbation fantasy.”
Madonna
Still giving Boy Scouts a helping hand
“You think I’m gorgeous,” Ginger said happily.
“Good Lord, you vile creature,” I shouted at her over the phone. “I would they were for I might die at once, for now you kill me with a living death!”
“Oh, Harry, your prose,” Ginger said breathlessly. “You take my breath away. There are so many late nights when I think about you and….”
“Focus!” I shouted into the phone.
I could hear Ginger taking a deep breath, calming herself. “I’m sorry, Harry. I almost lost myself in my fantasy world. It won’t happen again.”
“You stupid fool,” I growled. “We are talking about the construction of FEMA death camps, and you’re wanting to fantasize about a night of good whiskey and unbridle, passionate sex!?! Get your priorities straight, woman! Don’t be like every other fat feminist out there who think the world should orbit around them.”
“I will do whatever I can to please you,” said Ginger. “That’s a promise.”
“How much cash do you have?” I asked.
“Geez, Harry. I have about a hundred bucks, I think.”
“What about credit cards?”
“I have the MORTradio business account credit card,” Ginger said.
“Thank God you have some form of currency,” I said with relief. “Now listen to me. On your lunch break, I want you to go down to the nearest Best Buy and purchase an Xbox One and an extra Xbox controller.”
I heard nothing from the other end of the phone. Had Ginger frozen in fear from the responsibility I had now laid on her? Had the hired thugs of the Illuminati been tapping our conversation and figured out what I was planning and sent a bullet from a sniper’s rifle into Ginger’s frontal lobe?
“Are you listen to me!?!” I screamed into the phone.
“Yes, Harry, yes,” said Ginger. “I’m was just jotting down notes. I know that this is important and I don’t want to mess anything up.”
“Good Jesus Lord Almighty, you oversexed hipster. We are on the verge of possibly eradicating the elite of the Illuminati. You damn well better not screw this sh%$ up, or all of us will end up in a FEMA camp that will make Dante’s Inferno look like a day at Disneyland.”
From FEMA, with love
“Arbeit macht frei”
“Don’t worry,” said Ginger. “I always will have your back, Harry. Now, you want me to buy an Xbox One and an extra controller, right?”
“That’s right,” I said. “I also want you to buy The Golf Club game on Xbox One. Don’t be chatting anyone up. There might be some Illuminati thugs that might try flirting with you to distract you, so if anyone starts flirting with you just tell them you’re married to an autistic man and that if they don’t leave you alone, scream at the top of your lungs.”
“I will, Harry,” said Ginger. “By God, I will.”
“Just go into the Best Buy store, get what I told you to get, and then go home.” I pulled a cigarette from the pack that was in front of me and lit it, taking a drag before continuing. “Once you get your new Xbox One console up and running, I want you to register at the TGC Tours website. Don’t use your real name, though. Use a pseudonym.”
“What pseudonym should I use?” asked Ginger.
“Your TGC Tournament screen name should be….” I gave Ginger the name of her TGC Tours identity.
“Okay, Harry,” said Ginger. “Got it.”
I took another deep drag from my cigarette, laughing softly as I exhaled the soothing smoke. “I’ve known that TGC Tours has been infiltrated by the Illuminati for some time now. They have had their thugs playing the tournaments for some time now. It’s going to be a whole different ballgame now. Your covert actions, which will be directed by me, will be able to weed out these filthy bastards.”
“Oh, Harry,” said Ginger. “I know I can do this. I won’t let you down. It feels like the first time in my life I have a purpose, that I am not some dime-a-dozen girl.”
“And well you should feel that way,” I said to her. “This is an extremely important moment that you and I are sharing. With my well thought out plan and your covert actions, we will not only be able to prevent the Illuminati from infiltrating TGC Tours, but route them out from the entities of MORTradio and other capitalistic businesses, the same businesses that made this goddamn county great.”
“I knew you were a great man,” Ginger said. “My thoughts of you may have been impure, Harry, but they were set in the foundation of loyalty. Will you and I finally be able to work side by side?”
“FIGHT YOUR URGES WHILE IN HEAT, GINGER!” I crush out my cigarette in my already overflowing ashtray. I immediately lit another cigarette. “Don’t you see, you silly woman? The Illuminati have always focused on the Id, the needs and desires of the here and now. That’s how they have been able to undermine the strength of this county. If I was to fulfill your desire, it would be like we were building a FEMA camp!”
“I’m sorry,” Ginger said. “I cannot be so selfish. I must stop thinking of myself and dedicate myself to the greater good.”
The world on the verge of an apocalypse and all they can think about is….
“Use that Thigh Master you got for Christmas,” I told her, taking a drag off my cigarette. “It will help you.”
“I will, Harry,” said Ginger. “I’m going to go to Best Buy right now and buy that Xbox One and The Golf Club game.” She paused for a moment. “Harry, will you please help that family. The boss thinks you’re the only man for the job, and so do I.”
“Goddamn, you bastards!” I shouted. “You’re interrupting my TGC Tour event! This is the Masters Tournament Qualifying. This isn’t the usual asinine tour event that these bubbleheads usually put on. The sloping greens only are enough to make any man castrate himself in complete frustration! Bing Crosby died on a putting green, you know. Poor bastard was assassinated by the Illuminati!”
“Please, Harry,” pleaded Ginger. “Do it for me. Do it for MORTradio!”
“You people ought to be grateful for my work ethics,” I said. “Tell the boss that I’m changing and I’ll be on my way.”
“Thank you, Harry. MORTradio thanks you.”
“Yeah, your gratitude and a dollar bill will buy me a pack of chewing gum.”
I hung up the phone.
I slowing smoked the rest of my cigarette as I stood there, finally crushing it out in the ashtray after a few more drags off it. I began feeling a sharp pain within the partial-occipital region of my skull. The stress of having to deal with a family, as well as the needs of Ginger, MORTradio, and society as a whole, were weighing heavily on me. It was probably for the best that I help that family. I wouldn’t be able to focus my attention on my gameplay anyway. I knew that although I struggled greatly at times on the courses that were chosen by the vicious bastards of TGC Tours, I knew that my gameplay was still good enough to be respected, and that kept the elite of the Illuminati at bay.
I tossed my head back and began to laugh loudly, and then raised my fist into the air.
“Illuminati swine!” I shouted. “I know you can hear me! You shall not win! We, the average joe, the common man, the backbone of this great country, will triumph!”
Warriors against the Illuminati
“Kill ‘em all….let God sort them out!”
I bent to one knee, my hands clasped in prayer.
“Like the Pontic Sea, whose icy current and compulsive course, never feels retiring ebb, but keeps due onto the Propontic and the Hellespont seas. Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, shall never look back, never ebb to humble love, till that a capable and wide revenge swallow them up. Now, by yond marble heaven, in the due reverence of a sacred vow I here engage my words, to destroy the clan of the Illuminati, to save our society, to offer sanctuary to the masses and allow them to join in the blessed brotherhood of the TGC. We will witness, by God in Heaven, the end of Illuminati and Big Brother. TGC will once again rise up from the ashes as though a phoenix. I am your own, forever!”
I stood.
Within a half hour, I was showered and dressed, heading out my door and to my car.
Many hours had passed now.
As I said, it was dark in the bar, and I was thankful to be here.
The bartender finally noticed me raising my hand.
“Another one, Harry?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
The bartender reached out and grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels. He poured the liquor over what remained of the ice in my glass. He put the bottle of Jack Daniels back where it belong and then wrapped his knuckles lightly on the surface of the bar.
“That one’s on the house,” the bartender said.
“Why thank you,” I said. I was exhausted, but the gesture did not elude or escape me. I smiled at the bartender.
“You do a lot of good,” the bartender said. “A lot of folks might not appreciate that, but I do.”
“Thank you for noticing,” I said.
The bartender smiled back at me and then went about his business.
And so, within the scheme of all things, this small moment of time between two people in a dive bar that is not noticed by general society had happened. A social interaction that was pleasant. It was always nice to be appreciated, even if no one knows what you have done.
I thought of Helen.
I knew what she had done to my life, and I appreciated her.
I smiled.
“Goddamn good woman,” I said softly to myself.
I raised my whiskey, sipping from the glass.
