you should get out more, mr abercrombie, the doctor said wth a smile.
out? out where? mr abercrombie replied doubtfully.
oh, just walk the streets, look at people - people watch, the expression is. and there are plenty of people in the streets to watch - people named simmons, and rogers, and tombanelli, and chan, and even martinez some of them.
i don’t know. i remember one time in kansas city, or maybe it was in st louis or chicago, back when i was just a young fellow, i was standing on a corner woolgathering a bit, and a young woman thought i was staring at her, and she gave me what for, let me tell you.
ha ha, yes, there are women like that in every town, named millie or lily or jillian. but if you are dead set on avoiding them, might i suggest finding a friendly neighborhood bar. there is one in every neighborhood, with a friendly bartender named sam or jake or benny that you can tell your troubles to.
i don’t know, mr abercrmbie murmurred.
trust me on this, said the doctor, whose name is aways dr fisher, or dr morris, or dr simpson. they will be waiting for you. but there is one thing to watch out for, even in the friendliest bar in the friendliest neighborhood.
and what might that be?
a floozie. a floozie named mabel, or fawn, or cora, or daisy, and she will get her hooks into you and drag you to your doom. but then, an eminently sensible fellow like yourself need have little to fear. i just thought i would mention it, as it does go with the territory.
thank you.
so you will take my advice?
i am not sure. i will think about it.
you do that, the doctor smiled again, and mr abercrombie took his leave.
when he got down to the street, he considered taking a cab, which would have been driven by a talkative driver named willie or moe or alberto, and walked home to his lonely room.
all afternoon, which he had taken off from his job at a bank or an insurance company or a brokerage house, mr abercrombie pondered the doctor’s advice.
at dusk, he found himself seated at henry’s horseplayers bar on houston st, the first bar he had come to after cautiously venturing out of his apartment building.
it seemed a quiet place. there were no colorful characters in sight. in fact he was the only patron.
the bartender approached, he had a big red face, so he was sam. if he had had a walrus mustache he would have been jake, and if he was bald he would have benny.
you have been here before, sam said.
i guess i have, mr abercronbie agreed.
you are mr bradley braithwaite, and you work at big city bank. right? or wait - maybe you are mr curtis chatsworth, a partner in the law firm of chatsworth, downboy, and entwhistle.
that is correct, mr abercrombie agreed. and just as it should be.
tell me your troubles, sam urged mr braithwaite.
i don’t have any troubles, mr chatsworth replied.
you do now, said a voice beside him.
it was mabel jones, or maybe it was fawn fitzgerald, or daisy walker. she put her suitcase sized purse on the bar, took a pack of herbert tareyton cigarettes out of it, shook one out and put it in her mouth, and waited for mr abercrombie to iight it.
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