i know why they call it a depression
She ordered a Shirley Temple with vodka. A beer for her friend. They talked about which one was darkest. It was the Prohibition Ale. The red walls were chipped and giving the room a warm glow. The jukebox was playing a song about the depression motherhood causes. Everyone knew it.
Beer stayed in rings on the bar where foam had run over the edges and pooled. Just one barkeep. She didn’t care if you put your arm in beer. She wasn’t mean – it was that kind of place. Wipe it up if it bothers you. She cut her thumb slicing limes but didn’t swear…looked at it, stuck it in her mouth, sucked it quick, took it out and shook it. She poured me a Sierra and took my twenty.
Work is slowing down. The remodel almost done.
“Didn’t he die or make a comeback?”
The question was about Tiny Tim.
“He’s dead,” was the answer.
I shouldn’t be here. I’m broke. But the money will come soon.
Right?