TIMES CHANGE
Way back in the far corner where the dim lighting in the bar couldn t reach
the shadows, the bartender sat slumped in a chair, his aching feet resting atop a
stack of Budweiser boxes.
There hadn t been a customer for hours, and he passed the...
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TIMES CHANGE
Way back in the far corner where the dim lighting in the bar couldn t reach
the shadows, the bartender sat slumped in a chair, his aching feet resting atop a
stack of Budweiser boxes.
There hadn t been a customer for hours, and he passed the
time by chain smoking cigarette after cigarette while watching through yellowing
eyes the pavement outside the window and the few abandoned buildings on the street.
Every now and then a man or woman passed on the sidewalk, and he d wave.
Sometimes
the person waved back, other times they just ignored him.
But for the most part he
just sat there thinking about closing, and about his one room kitchenette and the
bed that awaited him there.
On occasion he dwelled on the bar, his many years
there.
How he, like the bar, had once been young and filled with dreams.
Now they
were both old, each living out the few years left to them.
He wasn t a man giving
to soul searching, and never expanded upon the thought.
Instead he just supposed
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