Showing posts from April, 2014

There Is a Bar on Bourbon Street

It was sometime after midnight. The bedroom was quiet and dark. He laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“I came on your back,” he said.
I should have laughed back. If he had asked me what was so funny, I would’ve told him he came faster than I could drink a beer.
I’m 29 years old and I’m still should-ing myself.
I picked him up in a blues bar on Bourbon Street; an Australian in town for Wrestle Mania. I was wearing overalls and flip-flops from Walgreens.
I spent sixteen dollars on a Coors light and a vodka tonic for my girl friend. A few minutes after we sat down, a man in a baby blue t-shirt sat down next to us. The bartender was telling me how she taught a sailor how to curse last weekend.
The man in the baby blue shirt ordered a Scotch and Coke.
“Where is everybody?” he asked. There were only four other people in the bar.
We started talking and my friend mentioned the night before was my birthday. He bought me another beer.
“The only time I’ve had scotch was the day J.D. Salinge…