Part 2

Back at my favorite jukebox bar, armed with my best inky pen, my journal, and my Murakami book in case things get desperate; I order a pint of Smithwick's. I ask the barman to turn on the machine. While he does this, he quizzes me on American history, and we have a cheers for D-day. For a minute I wonder if he is drinking real beer or a facsimile, as I have heard that bartenders make better tips if they pretend to drink with you. No matter. It is hot, I can feel a single bead of sweat roll down my back. I am not a fan of hot, humid, Arkansas summers; never have been, never will be. The summer always takes me by surprise.

There are only five other people in the bar, I will be holding them hostage with my musical selections. I put five bucks in and for that I get fifteen songs; the next hour or so is all mine. The two groups making up the five all choose to sit by the open french doors near the sun, as I just want to be in the darkest part of the bar. I sit in the back of the class so to speak. Bartender Jim comes by to check on me, spies my book, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman, which for one reason or another I have been stuck on page 184 at the beginning of the story, "Tony Takitani." Jim says, "good for you" when I explain a bit about Murakami. One french door sitting pair has now left, while the other group drums their fingers to Jimi Hendrix's "Machine Gun," which is my seventh selection.

Time is moving too fast: in here, out there, around the world, everywhere- it is just moving too fast.

I look at the random collection of metal and wooden bar stools, this is the first thing I do- I always replace my metal bar stool with a wooden one before I sit down. It has just occurred to me that my music selections are not being played in order. They were but then they stopped, that can't be. Ah... Nick Cave comes on. Time for another beer. I hope the bartender doesn't talk my ear off especially during Nick, but of course he does. Stories of young girls in their short skirts looking for men to buy their drinks, and underage kids trying to get served. The problems on the street, cops. The last time he bartended, a younger patron asked him, "Jim, is life ever going to get any better?" Damn...I slink off to my table. "I've got mean things on my mind..." Robert Johnson's soulful, strained caterwaul fills the air around me. Oh... I sigh. "Love in vain" comes on next, one of my favorite songs for the last twenty years or so. The filthy and strained air conditioner is above my head and has shifted from making white noise to the sound of a jet engine taking off. I am at the end of my five bucks worth of music, Joy Division's "Love will tear us apart" is the closing number. The question is, do I put more money into the machine? Of course I do. The Rolling Stones, "Midnight rambler" is the accidental first selection in my second jukebox set, but fine just the same.

Another long talk with the bartender about the Civil War, Fayetteville, Kansas City, the toxic chat piles in Picher Oklahoma, his ex wife, drunk driving, etc...someone pops in to speak to Jim and saves me from the rest of that conversation. "I fell for you like a child..." Johnny Cash's dark velvet voice booms. "Cat people" by David Bowie comes on next, the slow version, not the one that was on Let's Dance. I see familiar faces walk past the bar, I fight the urge to say hello. I decide this is a good thing. A man wheels a huge wooden cross down the street on his shoulder, just wanting to remind all the sinners out drinking what today is really about. I run to the open door and snap his picture, the flash accidentally goes off, he has seen me. For some reason, I feel just a little ashamed.

The street is now getting dark, and I wish I still lived around the corner.

"Set it light and set it free..."