The Bar Story: Sprawled out in likes of Sinning Angels

Posted: August 28, 2018 in fiction, LIFE AND STUFF, Random stuff--read at your own risk!
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The Bar Story: Sprawled out in likes of Sinning Angels

A day, there, some where else, not here, which seemingly is increasing my depression. I would crawl into the bottle for weeks, drinking till my guts came out of my mouth sideways.


Someone screamed about the lack of sound, as if the jukebox wasn’t playing and the patrons weren’t talking higher volume than usual.

“Frank’s paying!!” someone yelled from the back; lifting their glasses to the dearly departed; shot dead by his wife when she discovered he was cheating on her with one of the girls down on the line.

“Poor ole Frank would want us to drink…” another laughed and we drank till we fell down on the floor; sprawled out in likes of sinning angels; 1983.

The sign outside the bar was broken; blinking half on, half off, Sid’s.

We could have gone down the hill; to another bar, a block west, but it was a tourist trap, the places the tours stopped, “See the locals!” except the locals never showed up there; too close to the highway; mile too close to society.

The ladies were there; spending their night’s take.  “Bourbon!” they all ordered, tossing them back with glee, one after another, in eulogy to Frank.

The alcoholics in the outside world were considered the norm, here, in this place, an escape from that society, the outside world.

When the market for the mines dried up; the bar became an even more of an escape.

1979; the soon unemployed wandered in.

“Not a fucking jo

b!” Sid had yelled, slamming his fist into the bar. “40 years in that god damn mine and not a one…”

2013; damn jobs still weren’t there.

Sid was dead by 2014.

We all drank to

his departure into that great beyond….



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