Friday, November 29, 2019

For All the Shit That Happens

The bar was open Thanksgiving evening so I stopped in for a drink after work. Cigars, cigar bars, cigar aficionados are of no interest to me. None. Normally I would avoid such a place.

I went in because I could see only one customer. He was a young Oklahoman with a beard and modern hairdo sipping whisky and smoking a cigar. The bar tender had been adopted and abused repeatedly. The effects of this have carried over into adult life. She said she made a stand up routine out of it which she performs at a bar just down the street.

Another young man comes in. Thirty years old, he said, and free of family commitments today because his ex-wife gets the kids on the holidays, cause he has full custody of them on account of the high school student boyfriend she's keeping company with these days. He's hired a private eye to watch them and provide a report on how many times he goes in or comes out of the house. In and out, in and out, again and again and again.

He talks about a lot of things, but it always comes back around to her 18 year old high school lover. He talks about the AR-15 he's got in his truck right now. He carries. He's licensed to carry. He's carrying now. Everybody he works with in tractor parts sales carries too. It's the Wild West out here, he says.

He's got a 100 round drum magazine for the AR-15 and a special trigger that discharges a round both when you squeeze it and when you release it, doubling the rifle's rate of fire. He carries a shotgun in his truck too.

He's learning about fine cigars lately, appreciating them. He's been smoking them once a week for about 3 months now. He's cultivating an interest, a pass time, something else to do and to think about.

"I almost pulled on that high school sumbitch the other day because he charged my Dad who has a legal disability".

"Everyone carries around here. You have to, because of all the shit that happens".

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