V. The Hierophant.

The Bar—AFTERNOON

Fleeing the office, I spot a bar aptly named The Belly Of The Whale across the street. I am already pretty disconnected from reality, so what can a drink hurt?

I trudge into the bar heavily and sit upon the nearest stool. I toss my keys unto the black and white tile bar. Dumb idea, that. I could forget and get locked out of the house. I shove my bag on the next stool over. A flamboyant Bartender comes up cockily swabbing a glass with a towel.

He says “So what’s a handsome green eyed worker bee like you doing in a place like this?”

I shrug. Smile. It’s a half compliment and I’ll take it. He frowns at my bag taking up valuable real estate.

“You know, worker bee,” He fingers the strap of my bag disapprovingly, “You should leave your work——at work and be happy in your spare time.”

“Yeah. I do what I can.”

“Do better.” He closes to make his point. “As they say, never confuse the two pillars: Their Law and Your Liberty.”

“Sure. Makes sense. I didn’t know they said that.”

“Well, they do.” He nods with some satisfaction, “What’ll you have?”

“Whiskey. Neat. Make it a double.”

“Yeah, fine. You want Triple Crown or Triple Cross?”

“What’s the difference?”

“The Own or the Oss.” He looks for a laugh but I offer none. “Listen, Chief. I don’t name’em. I just pour’em. Costs the same.”

I shrug. He just grabs the closest one.

Another guy comes up beside me with a colorful mixed drink comes up embraces the Bartender, muttering lovingly greetings to him. I am not sure if I am in a gay bar or just a bar filled with gays. Doesn’t much matter, does it? I am drinking. Or about to. At length the boyfriend next to me speaks.

“So, Carl. Have you seen the news? Dreadful. Just dreadful what happens in the City.” He now notices my presence as he sits next to me. “Who’s this?”

The Bartender shrugs, as he pours my drink.

“Hi.” I offer flatly. The boyfriend doesn’t acknowledge me.

“Well, he’s just awful, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” the Bartender agrees, “I was just telling him that. With that awful sack of books!”

“Dreadful.”

“Awful. He should leave it. Forget work and whatever else he’s stuck on. It’s the weekend. Ugh! Whiskey neat!” He sets down drink with disgust. “Here, two fingers of whiskey.”

“Thanks. Two fingers?” I consider briefly then accept the benediction. Drink deeply.

“The Key to Heaven.”

They snicker.

“But!” I mutter “I am angry and jealous and afraid because I may have nothing but an empty apartment to greet me.”

“Also,” the Bartender tells me, told “You should wear pants that are lighter in color. Almost white.”

“I don’t know if that is good advice or not, but I do have a pair like that.”

But, I seem to be talking to myself. The men have stopped snickering and have begun to nuzzle each other. My irritation is piqued and I am sneering and near at a loss for words. I am near nonsensical. “Work! Weekends! Well, I guess for some it’s easy to compartmentalize. We all don’t have Mommy-Daiquiri-Pants to go home to!”

I shove the drink back towards the Bartender, grab my satchel and slam out of the bar.