The thing about bars....

The occasionally beautiful but oftentimes ghastly "dumbing down" effects of Alcohol when ingested by a random sampling of our co-citizens many of whom were already "deficit spenders" to start off with....

A fit looking bald man with a scar on the corner of his works the room as adeptly as possible given the sartorial handicap of flip flops and stone-wash.

On the other side of the bar, by the pool tables, a "soon to be bald" man with a brave and sensible crew cut dances to the sub par Reggae Dancehall track that emanates from the Internet. He really goes for it...feverishly swinging his hips around in circles while stroking imaginary buttocks with his outstretched hands. Air "doggy styling" it to death and genuinely feeling sexy whilst so doing. He must have received positive feedback for prior versions of this performance in my mind. His confidence is high. A girl sitting at the bar notices and encourages him by name...."Git down Reginald...you go!" she emits squeakishly.

Two gay African American gents at the bar make eyes at me. Likely the result of my wearing a dusting of silver glitter as is my customary wont. They are distracted by the arrival of Sonic Youth on the Jukebox as my choices finally start to kick in....Apparently they were the prior custodians of the air space. Abusers would be a more apt description in my view. Aural insults qued up with intent to pollute the collective head. Mediocre Nu-Metal/Emo dirge followed by plastic r and b sentimentalization "on click".

"What is this shit?" Asks one of the other..."It must be one of your picks". Comes the response.

"Tis not....! I have no idea what this shit is...."

They start to "pretend fight" over the matter.

ON AN EXPRESSWAY TO YRRRRR SKULL!!!!!!

The lads interpret Sonic Youth's interjection (a corruption of the classic 60's soul song title -"Expressway to yr Heart") as cause for intensifying their drunken slap/shove/grab "joke" altercation.

A bar stool falls over.

Gay lads are still lads....with lads strength and lads testosterone...I observe.

"Hey you guys!" I exclaim....."Try to retain at least a shred of dignity huh??"

The fluffier headed of the two takes note of my comment and acknowledges its acuity by way of a sheepish shrug of the shoulders and embarassed smirk. Their combat abruptly comes to a close.

Optimistically they choose to interpret my decision to engage them as potential evidence of my romantic interest in one/both of them. Their bar stools swivel around until they are oriented libidinously towards me. I am hit by a two nosed, four eyed, toothy grin powered homo erotic broadside somewhere in the vicinity of my "fo'castle". Their assault is rendered impotent though upon encountering the turgid and monotonous entrenchment of my heterosexuality.

"Golden Years" kicks in on the jukebox.

"Run for the shadows....run for the shadows." intones David Bowie.

The lads decide to take his advice and march for the exit.

I look at my watch. 1.35 am.

It is my birthday I realize.

"Golden Years."

A girl vomits onto the pool table to my right upsetting the gentlemen who are playing 8 ball thereon.

I finish my Guiness and leave.

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