The Feet of God

115 - SAME OLD SCENE

So here I was, swamping The Head again.  Eradicating graffiti.  But ya know, graffiti can be as informative as it is entertaining, just like reading a newspaper.  For example, I knew The Rusty Trumpet had recently served some military types:

Cat’s ass, rat’s ass
Three hots and a cot
Buy me a beer
And I’ll show you what I go,
Butt muncher
Muff diver
Knob gobbler too
I’m a U.S. serviceman
Who the fuck are you?

And someone had a thing about certain states in the country, ‘cause after I’d erased the last one about Texas, I read this:

Forgive me Lord
For pissin’ and moanin’

But thanks to You
I ain’t an Oklahoman

I finished up as best I could.  I figured I better let Jar-Boy know a plumber needs to come and do something about all that filthy water accumulated around the toilet.  It was beyond control.  And it didn’t smell right.  And it might be a good idea to finally install a sink.

But things was good for me personally.  Fuck everybody else.  Hell, I had me a regular paycheck now, and I could eat breakfast at McDonald’s any morning I wanted.  And, hell yeah, I even managed to buy a new change of clothes from my recent earnings.  I’d somehow managed to turn my life around, and it’s only uphill from now on.

Later I’m sitting in The Rusty Trumpet during Jar-Boy’s matinee turn.  A regular customer named Roach sauntered in with the most perfect, pomaded comb-over ever, and planted his ass in the Government next to me.  Jar-Boy poured Roach his usual Manhattan.  I said hello to Roach, then excused myself for a moment to piss, after which I stepped outside for a hand-rolled wonder.  (Yep, I’d made successful first contact with Acorn.)

When I returned the shift was changing, and Queen Bee was relieving Jar-Boy.  Joe Jack zoomed in and was telling one of his jokes, of which I only caught the tail end, “…so the child molester says to the little girl, ‘You’re scared?’  Hey, I’m the one who has to walk out of here alone.”  I tellya, Joe Jack could go to a very dark place sometimes.

I vacated the Government for the Balcony.  I heard Jar-Boy say to Sputnik, “Don’t use such big words, bruddah.”  Sputnik must’a been in one of his moods, ‘cause he was tapping on that Ouija board like crazy, then I heard Jar-Boy say to him, “Hey bruddah, don’t talk so fast.”

Another regular popped in the bar, but his visits was more occasioned by the arrival of his Social Security deposits.  He was called Tats.  Yep, he was called Tats because he was completely covered in tattoos.  Like that dude in Moby Dick.  A giant green octopus on his left shoulder supposedly went all the way down to the bottom of the sea, or so they say, but I don’t know anybody who could swear to that being a fact.  Oddly enough, Tats favored wearing Scottish regalia.  Including a kilt and suchlike.  And he proudly took his broad stance upon the bar stool, causing a certain amount of commotion among guests and regulars.
 
One of the most prominent regular customers was Dante Valentino.  He was a bit swarthy, I guess, or maybe your basic Latino lover type.  Whatever.  I’m talking white wife-beater and tufts of shoulder hair like SOS pad epaulets.  But he could sing like a caged capon.  And when a song set him off, watch out.  And so it happened, as the jukebox pounded out “What’s New Pussycat?”  Dante lit up the little flashlight he carried with him and he shined it under his face for extra star power:

What's new pussycat?  Woah, Woah
Pussycat, Pussycat
I've got flowers
And lots of hours
To spend with you.
So go and powder your cute little pussycat nose!
Pussycat, Pussycat
I love you
Yes, I do!
You and your pussycat nose!
What's new pussycat?  Woah, Woah
What's new pussycat?  Woah, Woah

He waved the flashlight at various patrons and called them out, singin', “Pussycat, Pussycat, I love you!”  If it wasn’t so funny, I’m sure he’d’a been 86’d.  However, it did get kinda weird when he concluded his song, his fingers sliding along his stomach and he leered at me.  “Six-pack.”

Well, I wasn’t having none of this.  I proudly lifted my T-shirt.  “Keg.”

After that I went over and played some pinball with Big Dick and Little Dick.  In my day, back in Bakersfield, I was known as one helluva a pinball player.  I even held the distinction of losing to Pinball Patti.  Well, no one ever beat her.  But I was good.  Now I hafta admit, Big Dick and Little Dick was even better than me.  I thought it was nice whenever one of them won a new record, they’d put in the initials DIK.  So no matter who it was who won, you knew it was always a Dick.

Then I heard Rick Rottingham loudly harangue Sputnik, “That’s preposterous!”

Sandi came over to me as I ordered another scotch and soda.  She talked to me under the “dome of silence,” which meant she expected me to keep it a secret.  Sandi said Madama Krupskaya had assured her one day an oboe player would come along, and she only had to believe.  I refrained from any comment on such an obviously touchy subject.

Then there was quite a fuss at the bar.  Leo Lancelot set off Cornbread with some comment, or whatever, I don’t know, but it didn’t take much to make Cornbread insanely angry.  He was known for his bouts of violence, and he’d actually been 86’d from The Rusty Trumpet for mayhem before.  Now he was in a frenzied fit and flinging bottles, glasses and whole lemons at customers in the bar, no matter who they was.  He threw pretzels with vicious force and bad intention, like a feces-throwing gorilla in the zoo.  Police was called.  Last I saw of Cornbread, he was giving lip to some cop.  I don’t think we’ll be seeing him around here for awhile.

I finally turned in, and I went to sleep on my cot….

I caught a glimpse of Little Billy running naked through some bushes and brambles, and I knew it was gonna be one of them nights.