(no subject)
I quickly scan the room for a familiar face upon entering. There are three. I don't want to talk to any of them. I take a seat in the 'artist corner', literally the bar's corner.
I order, light a cigarette and search for an ashtray. The tentative bartender slides one down my way. It stops just short of me, on my right.
A bluegrass band is playing. They're singing their rendition of Some Christmas carol.
"…and the three Wiseman can't pay their rent…"
I've never seen the guy to my right. He looks agitated and leans away from me in disgust.
"…Mary's knocked up and Joseph keeps wonderin'…"
He makes a sudden move. The dude snatches my ash tray, reaches across me, and plops the thing down over on my left side.
"Could you keep that smoke away from me?" he demands.
"Sorry."
But I'm not really.
I think: You stupid fuck, whuduya expect? You're sitting at a bar. And this is Cincinnati. And we smoke inside. We smoke inside while listening to our fucking bluegrass in this fucking city.
I feel like breaking his goddamn arm.
"…And the Baby Jesus was born a Capricorn…"
After the rage in me settles, I feel only one thing: ashamed.
And I think I've got a New Year's resolution now: to quit. Again. And again, and again, and again.
I order, light a cigarette and search for an ashtray. The tentative bartender slides one down my way. It stops just short of me, on my right.
A bluegrass band is playing. They're singing their rendition of Some Christmas carol.
"…and the three Wiseman can't pay their rent…"
I've never seen the guy to my right. He looks agitated and leans away from me in disgust.
"…Mary's knocked up and Joseph keeps wonderin'…"
He makes a sudden move. The dude snatches my ash tray, reaches across me, and plops the thing down over on my left side.
"Could you keep that smoke away from me?" he demands.
"Sorry."
But I'm not really.
I think: You stupid fuck, whuduya expect? You're sitting at a bar. And this is Cincinnati. And we smoke inside. We smoke inside while listening to our fucking bluegrass in this fucking city.
I feel like breaking his goddamn arm.
"…And the Baby Jesus was born a Capricorn…"
After the rage in me settles, I feel only one thing: ashamed.
And I think I've got a New Year's resolution now: to quit. Again. And again, and again, and again.