Green Man
Part 1
Green Man is a friend of mine that i met one frigid winter day at the Kinsale. The Kinsale is a good Irish pub, with good Irish food, and not so good prices. I had just gotten out of work, it was a Friday I believe, and i wasn't quite ready to make the long trek to Haymarket Station. I fancied myself a little jack and coke to warm my bones before the long walk ahead of me. Before i even open the over sized doors i can already smell the mahogany and plaster that the bar is made out of. The place has a sort of Dublin Ireland decor going on, complete with paintings on the ceiling, paper mache walls and 80's American Rock playing. Now I've never been to Ireland, but I'm sure most places are to this approval.
So I hurried through the doors like my Whiskey was going to drink itself if i didn't get a move on. I sat in the same stool i usually do, the one that has one leg about an inch shorter then the rest of them, so you're wobbling every time you take a sip of your beverage, or breath the wrong way. Dennis was working the afternoon shift and he already had my drink in front of me before i had my coat off. Dennis is a good bartender but that's all i really know him as. For all i know he could have a preoccupation of throwing bunnies into campfires, but he doesn't charge me for my full tab and I tip him well so I could give two shits if he doesn't like rabbits.
"What's up fag" Dennis says discreetly, as if the bottle of Malibu behind him might hear and get offended.
"Nothing really" I respond, "just thinking about what position i want to bang your girlfriend in tonight" I cheerfully respond.
Dennis laughs, I laugh, somebody outside laughs and somewhere an old lady is crying and we could give a flying fuck.
Dennis goes to clean his glasses or whatever he does and I take a long whiff of my drink before stirring it a little with the heavy duty black straw. I'm never really one for sentiments or expressing beauty in objects, but this drink makes the statue of David look like a steaming pile of monkey shit. Probably smells the same in comparison as well. The dark murky enigma glistens through the condensating glass as little drops of water catch themselves on the cardboard coaster underneath. I dive in and within the first sip i feel a calming glow fall over my body. Lights get turned down a little and somebody gets the remote to my ears and drops it down to about a 15. A Radiohead song comes on through somebody's shuffled IPOD and i wonder how i could get any happier. Turning to one of the LCD televisions I see they are playing highlights of the previous night on Sports Center. Here i am, my drink, my music, my television... my passion. Another long hit of my drink and it's already half empty. Or is it half full? Well within another ten seconds it's neither and I'm ordering another one.
"Dennis, one more my friend!"
Dennis brings me the second. He had nothing witty to say this time. I waste no time and ditch the whole straw scene. My father always told me "real men don't use straws..." or was it condoms? Hell, who cares.
Green Man is a friend of mine that i met one frigid winter day at the Kinsale. The Kinsale is a good Irish pub, with good Irish food, and not so good prices. I had just gotten out of work, it was a Friday I believe, and i wasn't quite ready to make the long trek to Haymarket Station. I fancied myself a little jack and coke to warm my bones before the long walk ahead of me. Before i even open the over sized doors i can already smell the mahogany and plaster that the bar is made out of. The place has a sort of Dublin Ireland decor going on, complete with paintings on the ceiling, paper mache walls and 80's American Rock playing. Now I've never been to Ireland, but I'm sure most places are to this approval.
So I hurried through the doors like my Whiskey was going to drink itself if i didn't get a move on. I sat in the same stool i usually do, the one that has one leg about an inch shorter then the rest of them, so you're wobbling every time you take a sip of your beverage, or breath the wrong way. Dennis was working the afternoon shift and he already had my drink in front of me before i had my coat off. Dennis is a good bartender but that's all i really know him as. For all i know he could have a preoccupation of throwing bunnies into campfires, but he doesn't charge me for my full tab and I tip him well so I could give two shits if he doesn't like rabbits.
"What's up fag" Dennis says discreetly, as if the bottle of Malibu behind him might hear and get offended.
"Nothing really" I respond, "just thinking about what position i want to bang your girlfriend in tonight" I cheerfully respond.
Dennis laughs, I laugh, somebody outside laughs and somewhere an old lady is crying and we could give a flying fuck.
Dennis goes to clean his glasses or whatever he does and I take a long whiff of my drink before stirring it a little with the heavy duty black straw. I'm never really one for sentiments or expressing beauty in objects, but this drink makes the statue of David look like a steaming pile of monkey shit. Probably smells the same in comparison as well. The dark murky enigma glistens through the condensating glass as little drops of water catch themselves on the cardboard coaster underneath. I dive in and within the first sip i feel a calming glow fall over my body. Lights get turned down a little and somebody gets the remote to my ears and drops it down to about a 15. A Radiohead song comes on through somebody's shuffled IPOD and i wonder how i could get any happier. Turning to one of the LCD televisions I see they are playing highlights of the previous night on Sports Center. Here i am, my drink, my music, my television... my passion. Another long hit of my drink and it's already half empty. Or is it half full? Well within another ten seconds it's neither and I'm ordering another one.
"Dennis, one more my friend!"
Dennis brings me the second. He had nothing witty to say this time. I waste no time and ditch the whole straw scene. My father always told me "real men don't use straws..." or was it condoms? Hell, who cares.