13,930. AT BAR 55

AT BAR 55

'Well fuck me twice because 

I've already lost it.' When I

heard Shanda say that aloud,

I knew she was already drunk.

Around the corner from the

wedge-shape bar, the guy 

named Carl came rushing 

over, with one of those white 

rags that bartenders use. He

looked all of us over, and

said, 'Go on, go on, just

another mess to clean. It's

really OK.' And I knew he

meant it too.

-

There were some lilies leftover

at the other table, and I said

'What's with that?' He said

there'd been a funeral party

here earlier  -  another one

of those (I'd seen them here

before) with the bagpiper and

the crazy Irish mourners and

the firemen getting drunk.

-

Right next door too, at the

Lion's Head, it never was much

better, except that was more the

'literary' crowd. I'd seen Breslin

in there, and Norman Mailer too.

Big-mouths playing cards, and

a few fights, right through to the

finish; who was gonna' win, you

never really knew. Keen men

would put bets on the ultimate

ending.

-

I'd once asked a bagpiper how

much he got for a funeral. He

said 'Eighty bucks. But it never

goes long. They say four hours

but in 30 minutes these bust-up

guys get so wasted they forget

all about me. And I get to drink

and eat. For free.'