Through the neon haze he sits alone at the end of the bar snacking on pretzels and nursing a light beer. Everyone knows his name, though no one sits with him. He watches the game, the bartender, the guys playing pool, the college girls who ignore him, and then he orders another beer.
The girls remind him of his dance with Darla Pinkerton, his date at the prom. His eyes twinkle when he reminisces to the bartender: “Darla Pinkerton was a looker in those days, you know, before she had those kids and got married to that idiot. Look at what she coulda had.” He chuckles and takes another sip. Read the rest of this entry »
