nate-dawg's car is all jacked-up. cd player doesn't work. got a donut instead of tire in the front, passenger side. his blinker never stops clicking even when he isn't turning. the kid hasn't gotten an oil change since I meet him.
we decided to drive his silver beast car to the bar, regardless. gooski's bar in polish hill is the spot - dark, great jukebox, pool table, cheap pitchers of yuengling, pinball machine; plus, the holy grail of any dive bar: a ping-pong table.
we rotate between the game centers and jukebox, while drinking beer, talking about our troubles.
we run out of troubles.
we decide we will finish a game of pool, drink the last drops and go home, rest up, put the silver beast to bed.
that plan is quickly jeopardized when an exotic woman of leather and tight denim struts in and sets a quarter down on the pool table, indicating that she has next game. now, nate-dawg is a desperate single man. me, i've got a good woman, but i'm still a tourist to the scenery of the world.
nate-dawg has a silly grin on his face. i proceed to buy more beers. we are going to be here for a least one more game.
(to be continued)
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