is this whiskey or piss?
“He’s just fucked up. He’s done so many goofy things. No what you call common sense. He got in a fight on a job site and decided he wasn’t gonna win. Turned and ran away, straight into the bucket on the backhoe. Knocked himself out cold.”
It was Friday five o’clock in the Pioneer Saloon. Rusty Sunshine had his Genuine Draft in a glass of ice and I had a Tanquery and tonic. Looking around it was a beer drinker’s bar. The type of place where you wanna fit in or else they give you trouble. Rusty was my pass. He nodded toward another guy.
“He’s a real good finish carpenter. I’ve known his wife for years. She waitressed tables at the lil’ restaurant and lived up the hill till she changed hands and moved back down. She don’t come to the bar no more. Women don’t as they get older. At least gen’lly from what I seen.” He got a little grin and said, “When they do you wish they hadn’t.”
“You call ‘em a cab home as soon as they walk in,” I said.
It was a bar full of older men with mustaches and ball caps, heavy jackets for the cold of early morning starts. They’d leave by six at the shift change and the young crowd would come in and fill the Internet jukebox up with hip hop.