It had been years since he’d had a decent night’s sleep. His bed was rotten, hard as a rock, harder than the floor, even, but he couldn’t afford a new one and so he was stuck. Not counting overdraft notices, he had roughly three hundred and fifty dollars in the bank, but he needed to hang onto that to pay the rent, due in a few days. If anything was left, he would buy something to eat — something he really liked, something Italian, with lots of wavy noodles smothered with sauce full of mushrooms and garlic. Right now, he couldn’t afford baloney. For three days he’d been living on onion sandwiches.

What he really wanted at the moment, though, was beer. The weather was hot, and an ice-cold beer sounded good. Three hundred and fifty dollars for the rent — he lived in a lousy, two-room apartment surrounded by filthy, screaming kids whose parents turned them loose in the parking lot in order to get even with the world for not appreciating their many talents — plus the light bill, the phone bill, the late payment on his revoked credit card, and the rest of his expenses. His car was out of gas, but that didn’t matter, the battery was dead anyway. New battery: eighty-nine dollars. Two quarts of oil, air for the tires — the whole thing was a nightmare, which is why he’d taken to riding the bus, but even that was expensive. Still, he felt pretty good about his prospects. The week before, he’d had a job that lasted a day and a half. It would have lasted longer, but he hated cleaning up after caged animals so he quit.

He added everything up. The three dollars in his wallet, it turned out, wouldn’t be enough to pay his bills. It was enough, however, to buy beer. Not a lot of beer, but some. The best thing about it was, the beer was within walking distance, so there were no hidden expenses. There was a grocery store only a mile from where he lived. Of course he had no intention of walking all the way to the grocery store, because the trek would make him so thirsty he’d need the beer just to recover. He wanted to enjoy the beer. That’s where the Fly Away Tavern came in. The Fly Away was only two blocks up the road. The beer there was more expensive than at the grocery store, but it was also colder, much colder. Anyway, one pint, that’s all he asked. That’s all he needed, all he wanted, all he desired, all he could think about. And so it was decided.

He ran a comb through his hair, put on his shoes, stuffed his wallet in his back pocket, and set out. Two seconds out the door, a bright-yellow frisbee with a black stripe sailed past his ear and hit the wall of his apartment. He ignored the laughter of the thirteen-year-old monster who had hurled the thing, and the laughter of the monster’s obnoxious little friend, who was wearing boxers outside his pants. This sort of thing always went on. He knew the boys were bored out of their skulls. What was he going to do, tell them to go inside and read Treasure Island? Hardly. Instead, he picked up the frisbee and sent it flying — an exceptional toss that sailed up at the end and landed on the roof of the laundry room. The boys were delighted.

Being early in the afternoon yet, the Fly Away wasn’t busy. There were three old men scattered along the bar. The TV was on, one booth was occupied, and two poker machines were in use. There were no women in the place, except for thrice-divorced Krissy Sloan, who was working behind the bar. Krissy, though, hardly counted. You had to be really drunk to find her appealing, bless her soul, and usually that didn’t work. But she did have a personality of sorts, a pleasantly sarcastic manner that endeared her to her customers. And she gave good service. She kept the beer flowing, often for twelve hours at a stretch with nothing more than a few onion rings and a pack of cigarettes to keep her going. In short, a woman to be admired.

He chose a stool at the far end of the bar so he’d be able to see people come and go. Krissy said hi. He ordered a pint of beer, gave her two dollars, and received fifty cents in change. He picked up the tall heavy glass, which was frosted with ice. When he put it down, his upper lip was coated with foam and a third of the beer was gone.

Krissy smiled. “Gee, Dan,” she said. “You must be thirsty.”

“I must be at that,” he said.

“Well, you came to the right place.”

“Yeah. Now, if I only had some money.”

Krissy’s right eyebrow went up. “Uh-oh. Hard times?”

“You could say so. I have a buck-fifty left to my name.”

“Hey, that’s a lot. Gonna spend it here?”

He took another big gulp of beer. “Sure,” he said. “Why not? If you think you can handle the business.”

.............  ???

This song for my closed friend  --come back to home--

-____^