Here I am again; sitting at the bar. Thereâ??s just enough light to make out the cigarette burns on the highly lacquered maple bar top. Another amber colored beer sits in front of me. I study the neon sign as if it had moved sometime in the past twelve years.

Rick, the bartender, a burly Italian man with a short two-three fade and piercing green eyes, is still trying to pull up the local news on the TV screen at the corner of the bar. â??If I can just move the antenna a little bit to the leftâ?¦ er, maybeâ?¦ ah, screw it. Iâ??ll just turn up the jukebox,â?? Rick mumbles to himself. He is wearing the same button down black silk shirt I have become accustomed to. The jukebox, suddenly snatching me from Rickâ??s shirt, blasts Queen: Bohemian Rhapsody.

â??â?¦ Because Iâ??m easy come, easy go. Little high, little lowâ?¦â??

The swivel stool with its red, fake cracked leather top squeaks as I turn to the familiar, tired and worn out hobby. Tonightâ??s like any other Saturday night; drowning all my sorrows and playing a game of darts. My opponent, a skinny middle-aged man in dusty overalls, with a bald head and gray eyes, hits a triple twenty, looks at me and asks, â??What do you think about that?â??

Words! Spewing out of me, what whisky does to a manâ??s subconscious, â??I donâ??t know much about life, but I know itâ??s to be enjoyed.â?? (Everything gone by, everything Iâ??ve done, everything in life is related to a song.) With a big grin on his face and a drink in his hand, he cheers me on as I finish the half full beer sitting in front of me. Rick, lighting up a fresh clove cigarette, slides me a shot of my preferred poison; true death, Johnny Walker.

I head over to the jukebox. Listening to the music; I drift off to the sound. There she is! Two pub tables away and she sits alone. She is wearing a sleek black dress with red lace outlining her cleavage. Her big red juicy lips are so inviting. Her eyes, they are bluer than a clear sky in the middle of summer. Wisps of her long dark hair fall in front of one eye as she thumbs through the drink menu to occupy her time.

(After the next drink, maybe two, Iâ??ll go talk to her. Life is good, oh life is great! I hope to get laid tonight. By the prettiest girl I have ever seen tonight.)

I play another round with my new found friend, and I slam a double shot to top it off. â??Nyce shmeeting you, gud game,â?? I mutter. He shakes my hand and with one last gulp he is gone; me, not knowing if I will ever see him again.

Rubbing my eyes, I glance behind me to discover her companion has arrived. Actually, her twin (when did her twin arrive?) and their boyfriends (also twins!). They greet them with a kiss and order some mess of a drink, some kind of tropical mishmash.

(What sissies! Hell, both girls could have come home with me!)

My head keeps on buzzing, more and more. I pay my tab with some complication,â??How mush washzit??â?? Rick informs me of the bad news, â??$72â?? I fumble in my jean pockets pulling out some crumbled up bills, and a broken Marlboro cigarette. (Shit! I hope this covers it!) â??Geep da schange!â?? I shout.

I throw my black torn coat over my body, wrestling with it to get it on. I head out the glass door, not noticing the step, and I stumble into the snowy and vacant street. I get up, staring down at the stoop as if itâ??s going to fess up to tripping me.

(Next Saturday! Same time, same place!)