Thursday, May 26, 2022

The Bluegrass Tavern Chronicles( page 2)

 

     Joe was often worn out trying to work 40 hours a week at Lily Tulip and trying to run his bar too, many times he was in a vile mood but he came around after a few cold mugs of draft beer and hitting a joint, Joe loved his weed, smoked one early in the morning to get busy, he would clean hundreds of dirty mugs in minutes, watching him clean those dirty mugs was like observing a master at work, swishing each mug in a protruding glass ticker and coating each one of them in some sanitary blue solution would often throw you into a hypnotic state. Joe took great pride in serving a cold sanitized draft-mug of beer. 

     Music had a great influence on Joe, he had huge speakers and a stereo unit set up in his place, and he had a paying jukebox filled with mostly country music too, but had greats like Blue Oyster Cult, CSNY, CCR, The Eagles in that sound machine too for the young people. On Friday and Saturday nights the Tavern was rocking the roof off that joint, beer flowed out of Joe’s taps like Niagara Falls flowing into Angel Falls, he would let us the younger ones drink too, but we had to drink it in a red solo cup, which we never mind, and Joe had pool tables in an adjoining room with barstools set up on the half-wall to view the pool hustlers shuffle their cues. 

     Joe had his dream come true, people flocked to his place like migrating alcoholic geese, Joe wanted every patron to have the freedom to enjoy their mug of beer and relish some Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings with reckless abandonment. On certain Saturday nights, you could find Joe tipsy to Saint Augustine’s recipe and Joe could dance an incredible teeter like Fred Flintstone on his bowling toes, for a big man, Joe moved gracefully. Joe seemed very happy, his contentedness exuded on these rare nights, life is filled with wonders, and when your hard work rewards you tenfold you know you're successful. Joe finally could relax and reap the benefits at an early age, barely in his forties, God blessed him with a wife, a bar, and soon a child. 



                                                                            2

No comments:

Post a Comment

The Mornings Are Hell

The mornings bring their misery and reassurance  of my life’s decline, hollow the marrow of life, empty the cup of hope and filled the plate...