"This place doesn't seem so bad," said Addison, drawing a dirty ashtray closer, and tapping his Chesterfield ash into it. "Don't you agree, old man?"
"In the sense that no one has tried to beat us up yet, yes, it doesn't seem so bad."
A bartender came over. He was big and large all over, and wore a red bow tie. His dark hair was slicked back and he looked bored.
"Do you want anything?" he said.
"We would like two beers, please," said Addison.
"Okay," said the man. "We have Schaefer beer."
"Any other kinds?" said Addison.
"No," said the man, with just a slight note of sadness in his voice. "Schaefer is the only beer we carry."
"Well, I guess we'll have two Schaefers then," said Addison.
"Is draft okay?"
"Do you have bottles?"
"No."
"Let's make it two draft Schaefers then."
"Is a mug all right?"
"Are there any other choice?"
"No, we only serve beer in twelve-ounce mugs."
"Okay, then, two mugs of Schaefer, please."
"Do you know what they say about Schaefer beer?" said the man, after a brief pause.
"That it's the one beer to have when you're having more than one?"
"Yes," said the man. "And do you know why?"
"Because Schaefer's pleasure doesn't fade even when your thirst is done?"
"This is true," said the man. And then, after a brief pause, "The most rewarding flavor in this man's world, for people who are having fun."
He stood there.
"So," said Addison, "two mugs of Schaefer then?"
"If you like," said the man.
"We would like," said Addison.
"Okay. I'll go get them now."
He went away, presumably to the beer taps.
A man to Addison's left leaned in to face the two friends.
"Don't mind Joe," he said. "Do you know what Joe's problem is?"
"That he's insane?" ventured Addison.
"Ha ha, you jest," said the man. "Ha ha."
He was a fat man, yet another one. It seemed that nearly everyone they met was either fat or thin. Where were the normal people?
The fat man addressed Milford.
"Your friend is a jester, sir!"
Milford said nothing. He had learned very little in his years spent as a young alcoholic, but one thing he had learned is that you should never encourage conversations with strangers at bars.
"I'll tell you what Joe's problem is," said this new fat man, unbidden.
Neither Addison nor Milford said anything. Even Addison could tell the man was a bore, and Addison admittedly had a very high tolerance for boredom, but he did have his limits.
"I said I'll tell you what his problem is," said the new fat man. Neither of our heroes said anything, and so after a moment he said, "I'll tell you what his problem is. Do you want to know?"
"Is it," said Addison, "that he is an uncomfortably oversized human being who has the ill fortune to tend bar for a living?"
The man took pause.
"You are very astute, sir," he said. "Very astute. Hey, Clyde," he spoke in a louder voice, apparently addressing someone to Milford's right.
"Yes, Kevin?" said this other man, and Addison and Milford turned to look at him. This was a thin man, with a long face the color of the winter sky before a snowfall.
"I said did you hear what this astute young fellow said?"
"I confess that, yes, I was eavesdropping," said the man apparently named Clyde.
"He divined Joe's problem," said the fat man, presumably named Kevin.
"Well done," said Clyde. "A most perspicacious fellow!"
The bartender was back, at last, and he put mugs in front of Addison and Milford. The beer in the mugs, if beer it was, had no head, just a sad tracing of white on its surface.
"Here's your beers," said the bartender. "That'll be ten cents."
"Let me get this," said Kevin.
"No, I've got it," said Clyde.
"That's okay," said Addison.
"No, I insist," said the fat man.
"I insist as well," said the thin man.
"No, please," said Addison.
"Let me get it," said Kevin.
"No, it's on me," said Clyde.
"Let me just dig a dime out," said Addison, making no move to put a hand in a pocket.
"I wouldn't hear of it," said Kevin.
"Nor I," said Clyde.
"Here," said Milford, and he laid a quarter on the bar. "Keep the change," he said to the bartender seemingly named or known as Joe.
"Thanks," said the bartender.
"You're welcome," said Milford. He grabbed his beer mug, all his reservations about drinking an alcoholic beverage temporarily vanished.
"It's so good to see some new blood in this establishment," said the fat guy, leaning in so close to Addison that their arms touched.
"Yes, we need fresh new blood in this place," said the thin man, also leaning in, the whole side of his body from his arm down to his thigh pressing against Milford, who cringed even from his mother's touch.
"I'm wagering you two are literary men," said the fat guy Kevin.
"They possess all the earmarks," said the thin man Clyde. "On the one hand the shabby suit of threadbare flannel and a decrepit fedora, with a chin bespeaking the only occasional use of a razor, and that with a blade at the minimum six months old,
while on the other hand the ostentatiously demotic uniform of peacoat and dungarees, complete with newsboy's cap, worn by a young fellow whose lily white hands have most obviously never wielded a longshoreman's hook nor hauled on a bowline."
"Tell us," said Kevin the fat man, breathing his warm beery breath into Addison's averted face, "if you don't mind, your names, or noms de plume, so that we may keep a weather eye out for your work."
"My name is –" said Addison, and he paused before continuing, "Maxwell Thornburgh. And my friend's name is –"
"Mack Jackson," said Milford, and he compulsively lifted his mug and gulped down half of it, his alcoholism be damned.
Addison also lifted his mug and drank down half.
"Maxwell Thornburgh," said Kevin. "Mack Jackson? And have you gentlemen published?"
"We are both in the midst of huge massive projects, and so our books have not yet reached the shops, although we have contracts with major publishers," said Addison.
"I am impressed," said Kevin. "May we know what sort of massive works you both are embarked upon?"
"I myself am composing an epic novel, or perhaps a roman fleuve, on the hideousness of contemporary America, while my friend Mack is writing, uh –"
"An epic poem, in hexameters," said Milford, "on the hopelessness of human existence."
"Oh, I'd love to read that," said the thin man, what was his name, Clyde. "What do you think of Robert Frost?"
"I think he's a fraud," said Milford.
"You say you are writing an epic novel," said Kevin, addressing Addison, "perhaps a roman fleuve. May I ask your opinion of Marcel Proust?"
"He's okay," said Addison. "If you don't mind reading about mind-numbingly tedious dinner parties for thousands of pages."
"Ha ha," said Kevin, "oh, dear. I hesitate to ask what you think of Mr. James Joyce!"
"What does it matter?" said Addison.
"I beg your pardon?"
"What does it matter what I think of Joyce?"
"Gee."
"Hey, buddy," said the thin man, Clyde, leaning in so close that his own beery breath assaulted Milford's nostrils with the force of a miniature noxious gale, "Kevin is only trying to make conversation."
"Excuse me, what is it, Clyde," said Milford, to the face that was only three inches from his own, "but would you mind leaning away from me?"
"Oh," said Clyde, backing up his face only an inch, "am I intruding upon your personhood?"
"Yes, you are, and, if you don't mind my saying so, your breath smells like a sewer. A sewer on the street outside a slaughterhouse. A backed-up sewer. In August."
"How dare you?" said the thin man, Clyde.
"Hey, that's not nice," said the fat man, Kevin.
"You know," said Addison, addressing the fat man, "while we're on the subject, I wish you also would lean away from me, and, if I may say so, your breath also is quite vile. May I recommend Dubble Bubble gum? It sweetens the breath, and you can also make bubbles with it, and when the bubble has reached its maximum diameter you can let it explode with a most satisfying popping sound."
"How dare you," said the fat man.
"Yeah, how dare you both," said the thin man.
"Hey, everything okay here?" said the bartender, who was standing there again.
"Me and Clyde were just trying to be friendly," said Kevin, "and now these two scamps insult us."
"Saying we're sitting too close to them and and that we have bad breath," said Clyde.
"Why don't you two just leave them alone then?" said Joe the bartender.
"What?" said Kevin the fat man.
"Yeah, what?" said Clyde the thin man.
"I'll tell you why you don't leave them alone," said Joe. "It's because you're both inveterate bores, like everybody else in this place, and you're not happy unless you're boring someone and sucking the life force right out of them."
"Well!" said Kevin.
"Yeah," said Clyde, "well, indeed!"
"My advice to you two guys," said the bartender, addressing Addison and Milford, "is to finish your beers and get out of here and never come back. Unless you want to wind up like these two. Unless you want to wind up like me."
"Well, I never!" said Kevin.
"Yeah, I never either," said Clyde.
"The nerve," said Kevin.
"The unmitigated gall," said Clyde.
"Okay, let's go," said Milford to Addison.
"All right," said Addison, with a note of sadness or regret in his own voice. He lifted his mug and drained it. He put the mug down and glanced at Milford's mug, which was still half full. "Aren't you going to finish that?"
"You can have it," said Milford, who knew Addison all too well.
Quickly Addison picked up Milford's mug, and it was the work of a moment for him to empty it and place it back on the bar top.
"Okay, I'm ready," he said.
"Please don't go," said Kevin the fat man. "We won't suck your life force anymore."
"We won't lean in so close either," said Clyde. "We promise."
As one Addison and Milford climbed off their stools.
Addison addressed the bartender.
"Thank you, sir," he said.
"You're welcome," said the man. "And now, leave, if you value your souls, leave at once."
"Please don't leave," said the fat man.
"Yeah, don't go," said Clyde the thin man. "We'll be good."
"Listen," said Kevin the fat man. "I know we got off to a bad start, but give us another chance. Let us buy your next couple of rounds of beers."
"Schaefer beer," said Clyde. "Schaefer's pleasure doesn't fade even when your thirst is done."
"The most rewarding flavor in this man's world," said the fat man, "for people who are having fun."
"And shots of whiskey, too, Kevin," said Clyde. "I propose that you and I both buy a round of shots and beers!"
"Hang it all, Clyde," said Kevin, "but you're talking turkey now! Sit back down, fellas, because we're just getting started."
"Schenley's whiskey," said Clyde. "and Schaefer beer. On Kevin and me – free, gratis, and for nothing."
"Doesn't get much better than that," said Kevin. "So, please, we implore you, resume your seats."
Addison hesitated, taking a drag from his Chesterfield, but Milford, despite his aversion to touching other human beings, grabbed his friend's arm and pulled him away, towards the exit, through smoke and soft jukebox music and the babbling of crashing bores.
