Another segment of a project The Rise and Fall of a Saloon In The Latter Part off The Twentieth Century. These excerpts are not chronological. In fact very little logic prevails…
The feel good of Being a Presence and filling a space…happy to be alive and going out tonight…
Beautiful women sparkling like gold dust in a pan…not many yet, but the ones who were there… and more are coming…
Pretty Maids…all in a row…
I looked at the foyer and a large cloud of smoke billowed forth.
People and society hadn’t commenced the full demonizing of tobacco yet. Smoking was not only permitted, it was ubiquitous… but I digress… I was saying I looked at the foyer and a large cloud of smoke billowed forth…
Whut in the world…?
That very large cloud of smoke was followed by a guy about 5’1″ wearing a brand new overlarge brown cowboy hat smoking a cigar so big it looked like it was towing him.
Making his entrance, as it were…
The machismo presentation served its purpose in that it made people give him a wide berth but since it included women avoiding him like they would avoid an ankle biting mutt I’m not sure the production had the effect he intended.
Man, she looked so sweet… almost like a cartoon… she kinda glittered as she walked.
The Tattoo ~ part one
“You guys wanna see my flower…?”
Interviewing a new waitress…:
“Waddaya mean you don’t wear underwear…?”
“I never do.”
The perfect customer space
A clean table
A clean Ashtray
One dry napkin
You’re finding out, I think…
That the only thing you’ll find in a spider’s nest is more spiders…
The Write Down Book
There’s a lotta purty girls in this place.
“I was lookin back to see if you were lookin back to see if I was lookin back to see if you were lookin back at me…” old country song
Want another one?
The Tattoo ~ part two
She was a petite, pretty Full Blood… a Native American and claimed to be a truck driver passing through and looking to ‘get things taken care of’ so to speak before she went back on the road…
Stop me if you’ve heard this one…
Wear What You Want
You know what looks good on you…
The Vietnam Vet:
It wasn’t my fault… it wasn’t my fault…
you know what I’m talkin about…it wasn’t my fault…
And on the Bandstand
The band is playing “Sleepwalk” one of those ‘buckle polishers’
The Tattoo ~ part three
“Yep. That’s some flower!”
It was, too.
A rose. Tattooed on her very beautiful, coral nippled, Native American bosom. She wore a peasant blouse that allowed her to gently cup and lift the decorated breast so we could be sure to see the Art of it All…
You had to appreciate that…
She’s got great lips. Great lips are ones you never want to stop kissing.
…and you can tell just by looking at them how it would be…
A stately beauty with a long dark pour of hair…to her waist
eyes so like a deer, soft and brown
in a gown, a beautiful marooning of a lovely figure…
And on the Bandstand…
When Florie played the fiddle her hair spread like a nun’s cowl over her shoulders and in the spotlight it was a golden, gossamer fire…
“I’m good…baby, I’m good…”
“I’m sure you are but I don’t think tonight’s gonna be it for us…”
The toilet’s plugged up again.
Ice! I need ice!
I need ones and fives
Elvis is the king
The king is dead, long live the king.
Elvis loved his mother
That may be but he was also a pill junkie
Elvis was a good moral role model
Sure… for rich, spoiled entertainers
I love Elvis
Not me. I love Jim Beam and Brandy
He sat very straight on his barstool, looked at himself in the mirror and maintaining a straight line from the back of his head to the tips of the legs on the stool, toppled over backward.
A telephone pole couldn’t have done it better.
…and he did it with a smile…
He would come in only when a band was playing. He came to dance one dance, sometimes two and leave. About 5’10. a silent young man…slender build and wearing clean clothes of no particular style. A John Deere billed cap and the demeanor that could make you think of him as a young farmer come to town.
To dance…and dance…and dance… in a relaxed yet rigid manner his legs and feet swinging in gentle, sweeping loops; his hands most often were in his back pockets and his torso unbending.
…his eyes were on the floor as he glided and danced seeing only what his mind played for him as he drifted over the dance floor…
To dance…and dance…and dance…
He was Central Casting’s send-up of the Perfect Bartender. Spotless, starched white shirt and apron…an always perfect tie with an always perfect knot. Blond hair, like a Swede’s, thinning on top…in his mid to late 40’s. No one else could have pulled off that character in such a place.
…a cynic with laughing eyes… eyes that smile like a predator’s… a smile that never quite made it to those eyes.
Not all the Norsemen were giants. It was said they all had cunning and were dangerous if you didn’t keep your guard up.
A roomful of people has a voice, you know…
Like the group, or herd or whatever it is, has its own life, its own language. You can tell if it’s happy… or not, as the case may be.
You don’t want an unhappy room in a saloon…
There’s something about a woman’s walk…
…how do they do that?
You walk behind them and are amazed at the total variety of ways women move their hips as they walk…
Some smolder like the Sirens they are as they move, mesmerizing any helmsman’s mind into the rocks simply by moving across the room.
Others move like queens and appear to have no feet… they just glide…
Definitely something about the way a woman walks…
It’s another night at The Bar…
Paper Dolls~ by Vann
I lost this one.
I sometimes put some of my pieces in busness establishments around town trying to drum up interest in my paintings.
I put this one in a small bar on Woodside Road in Redwood City.
The owners sold the bar and the picture dissappeared…