It is a friendly place, this brewery barroom. I’ve been here many times before. There’s room to move, to shuffle-dance around all these little tables. Though if I want to get closer to the performer, it’s dicey. Don’t want to step on anyone’s toes or block anyone’s view. But I always think, “I have a right to be here. I went through hell for them.”
Can’t afford more than one glass of beer. That’s cool. That’s not what I’m high on anyway. I just buy one because I want to pay my way. I can pay my way. Can’t sit still, though. Fidgety. The music helps. I need to move and the music makes that acceptable. No one else dances, though. Not usually. I used to play the guitar too, a long time ago. Watch my hands.
Sometimes I feel like I’m going to float away. My clothes don’t fit anymore. There are new shadows on my face when I look at it, so I don’t look at it much. I cast my eyes down when I stretch my arm out for a knuckle bump. The bald guy adjusting the microphone turns and bumps my fist. I think he understands. I used to sing, too. Which place is this, now? I’ve been here before. Where is the bathroom?
I can hear a woman singing out there when I'm inside the bathroom. So emotional and far away. She’s playing a piano, an electric piano. Did I ever play the piano? I don’t think so. I don’t like being alone here in the bathroom; I must finish quickly.
I would like to sing a song. Maybe I’ll sign up. I’ll be the last one, but that doesn’t matter. Maybe someone can play the music to accompany me. I’ll ask the woman who was playing piano. Oh, she is listening; she is looking right into my eyes, but she says she does not know the song I want to sing. She says to ask the emcee. Then she asks me about my tear tattoo. “It’s for the ones that gave their lives,” I tell her, “but I don’t want people to think I’m part of a gang. I might have it removed.”
This song right now, that the young man with the dark beard is singing, it makes me happy. I want to show him, so I cross my hands over my heart. I haven’t heard most of these songs. The ones I know are from 1973 and 1974, from when I was in 'Nam. “The Joker,” that’s the one this reminds me of. I’m moving to it, I’m shuffling, dancing toward him. I’m going to shake his hand when he is finished with the song. I’m there, and when I reach out, he smiles and shakes my hand. I’ve been here before, it’s a friendly place.
— Macoff
Can’t afford more than one glass of beer. That’s cool. That’s not what I’m high on anyway. I just buy one because I want to pay my way. I can pay my way. Can’t sit still, though. Fidgety. The music helps. I need to move and the music makes that acceptable. No one else dances, though. Not usually. I used to play the guitar too, a long time ago. Watch my hands.
Sometimes I feel like I’m going to float away. My clothes don’t fit anymore. There are new shadows on my face when I look at it, so I don’t look at it much. I cast my eyes down when I stretch my arm out for a knuckle bump. The bald guy adjusting the microphone turns and bumps my fist. I think he understands. I used to sing, too. Which place is this, now? I’ve been here before. Where is the bathroom?
I can hear a woman singing out there when I'm inside the bathroom. So emotional and far away. She’s playing a piano, an electric piano. Did I ever play the piano? I don’t think so. I don’t like being alone here in the bathroom; I must finish quickly.
I would like to sing a song. Maybe I’ll sign up. I’ll be the last one, but that doesn’t matter. Maybe someone can play the music to accompany me. I’ll ask the woman who was playing piano. Oh, she is listening; she is looking right into my eyes, but she says she does not know the song I want to sing. She says to ask the emcee. Then she asks me about my tear tattoo. “It’s for the ones that gave their lives,” I tell her, “but I don’t want people to think I’m part of a gang. I might have it removed.”
This song right now, that the young man with the dark beard is singing, it makes me happy. I want to show him, so I cross my hands over my heart. I haven’t heard most of these songs. The ones I know are from 1973 and 1974, from when I was in 'Nam. “The Joker,” that’s the one this reminds me of. I’m moving to it, I’m shuffling, dancing toward him. I’m going to shake his hand when he is finished with the song. I’m there, and when I reach out, he smiles and shakes my hand. I’ve been here before, it’s a friendly place.
— Macoff
This is so like the musicians I know. They wouldn't trade their lives for anything, but it's a hard existence. Opelikakat
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