Odd Days — part two

continued from Odd Days — part one

Van Horn. Nothing to do this late but run from the Mo6 under fat raindrops into RJ's Grill. 

Two TVs hang on either side of the bar. The stools are a little low — I feel like a child without a child-seat as I scribble on a drink napkin while music plays "You've got a lotta nerve . . ."

	The bartender sets down a menu & says there’s "too much Dylan on Pandora.”

Four others at the bar include a man with a hamburger patty, chili & baked potato.

The bartender says to order the same way & put chili on the baked potato.

The hamburger-patty man looks over & says the chili is “really good.”

A younger guy with hair-combed sunglasses clasps a beer bottle & watches football on the right-side TV while the left broadcasts a poker tournament.

An older man in an Ocklawaha Florida! t-shirt with a pint of beer sits with a woman who clutches a cinched bag of cheese balls the size of a bed-pillow like a big headless doll & grips a colorful tumbler with the free hand. They might be silence-arguing. 

I order chicken fried steak with fried okra & chili. The bartender says to put the okra on the chili.

Zeppelin's South Bound Suarez comes on.

FL-pint man orders a personalized club sandwich design of no mustard & no pickles.

Bartender asks him if he wants a fried egg on it.

He says No then orders for Cheese-balls: ". . . salad with blue cheese. To-go."

The bartender tells him he gets a side order, too, & he orders chili saying he “heard it was good.”

FL-pint recites names of various hotels: “Hyatt, Holiday Inn Express” then laughs & says “. . . yeah, but Motel 6 leaves the light on for you . . .”

Cheese-balls rests her chin on her elbow-bar-propped palm like she's had enough & just wants the day to end.

The chicken fried steak arrives. It’s rubbery & luke-warm, but, the chili is good while I watch the poker tourney.

Journey: "Just a small-town girl . . .”

The bartender sings along then stops to ask how the meal is.

I answer "Chili was the best part.”

She laughs & sings on with "Don't Stop Believin’ . . .”

The hamburger patty man leaves.

Sunglasses-head orders another beer.

	The bartender asks what I'm writing about, nose-nodding towards the bar napkin.

The cheese-balls woman looks over.

I say I’m just noting what music is playing.

Dumb answer.

When the bartender leaves, I make another note to next-time answer, "Making a to-do list." 

That’s better. 

Truth is conditional & therefore messy. It just appears. 

FL-pint orders another round.

It’s been a typically odd day.