What If We Give It Away?
I walk into the bar and squint, trying to adjust my eyes to the light. I see Birmingham sitting at the bar and I saddle up next to him, lean in and say, ‘Hey, Popeye.’
He gives a slow turn of his head, sees me and gives a half grin, saying, ‘You still picking your feet in Poughkeepsie?’
I give him a full laugh, but it shouldn’t surprise me that he gets the reference. Law enforcement types should, right?
I order a bottle of Budweiser and the bartender—an over-tanned blonde in her late forties wearing a dirty tan t-shirt depicting two lobsters playing tug of war with what looks like a piece of licorice—says, ‘coming right up.’
When she brings it, Birmingham calls her by name and tells her to put it on his tab. I’m amused by this.
‘Thanks.’ I say, giving him an air toast.
We talk for a bit, minimally referencing what we did at work.
‘Worked on a case,’ he says.
‘Saw patients,’ I say.
It’s relaxed and casual, this give and take. Easy like Sunday morning, you might say. We make plans. I finish my beer and say goodbye.
I extend my hand and he shakes it firmly. I give him a wink. He pretends to look panicked for a half second, then his face opens into a laugh and he returns the wink.
I’m smiling as I walk out the door.
1 Comments:
1/29/2006
dan writes:
I guess I'm unclear as to why you would use Popeye Doyle as a term of endearment. Gene Hackman isn't exactly a sex symbol of the silver screen. Or is it just the whole law enforcement angle you were trying to cover? Was Jimmy ATF? I don't think so.
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