Creedence Clearwater Revival—Down on the Corner
Chip is sitting in a sour mood drinking and thinking at the dive bar next to Charles’s apartment building, a half-empty pitcher of Bud Light before him on the table. A mediocre jazz trio murders the standards via the joint’s out-of-tune piano. Charles looks in hesitantly from the street, spies Chip and self-consciously walks over to the booth.
“Well, it’s ‘bout time you showed up, you sad sack,” Chip greets him. “Get lost on the wild side?”
“Well, I have never been into this bar,” Charles says.
“It’s next to your fucking building, you moron! You’ve never been here?”
“No,” Charles says, surveying the definitively down at the heels décor: torn vinyl on the banquettes, dusty, fake mounted game fish, and tons of Marlins baseball paraphernalia on the walls. “Not my style.”
“Which you know how? From never setting foot?”
“Cram it, buddy. Whatcha drinking?”
“Spud Light, grab that mug there and I’ll pour you one.” Charles hates light beer, preferring craft stout, but he takes the full glass and sips a bit. He looks around the place. He’s never been comfortable in places he’s never been before, mainly because his beanpole stature and sport jacket often make him stand out. More than one drunken behemoth had given him unwanted attention in similar bars. Continue reading “25. Tell the devil you can freeze hell”
