"Right," said Addison. "I'm ready now."
He climbed off his stool, not falling, and Milford climbed off his stool, also without falling.
"Wait," said the fat man to Addison's left, "where are you chaps going?"
"Yes," said the weaselly man to Milford's right, "please don't leave."
"Sorry, gentlemen," said Addison, taking out his Chesterfields, "but duty calls."
"What duty?" said the fat man, Addison had already forgotten his name.
"Indeed," said the weaselly man, Milford had forgotten his name, barely having taken note of it in the first place, "what possible duty could be more important than sitting at this bar?"
"Um," said Milford.
"Uh," said Addison, shaking the pack of cigarettes, and putting one in his thin lips, the only kind of lips he had.
"Oh," said the fat man. "I get it."
"You do?" said the weasel man.
"Yes," said the fat man. "I know what it is, Quintillius."
"Pray tell, Petronius," said the man presumably named Quintillius, "because unless our young friends are headed for the men's room to void their bladders, I can think of nothing warranting their leaving."
"Cherchez la femme," said the fat man apparently named Petronius, "or, in this case, les femmes."
"What?" said Quintillius. "Is this true?" he said to Milford. "You and your friend go in search of the females of the species?"
"Um, uh," said Milford.
"Yes, look at them, the fires of lust in their eyes," said Petronius. "Am I wrong, Radisson?" he said, addressing Addison.
Addison had just finished lighting up his cigarette with one of his paper matches from Bob's Bowery Bar, and he waved the match out and tossed it towards the nearest ashtray on the bar, missing it by six inches.
"You are not wrong, sir," he said. "We go in search of the divine female, or females, and, failing divinity, we shall accept gladly the merely human."
"Well, I only hope you have some money then," said the fat man. "Because, speaking only from what I have read in the popular magazines, female company does not come cheap, sir."
"I had female company once," said the weasel fellow. "I was very young, well, thirty-four to be exact, and sought to lose my virginity, just to find out for myself what all the fuss was about. It cost me two dollars, which back then was no small amount, I needn't tell you!"
"I think they'll need more than two dollars nowadays," said the fat man Petronius. "What with inflation, I daresay the price now could be as high as five dollars."
"Five dollars!" said Quintillius. "That's outrageous. Do you know how many imperial pints of lager one could purchase for five dollars?"
"Maths have never been my forte," said Petronius, "but I'm going to guess that's approximately twenty imperial pints of this delicious house lager."
"Preposterously overvalued," said the weasel guy. "Listen," he said, to Milford, touching his arm with a claw-like finger, the only sort of finger he had, "save your money, Pilford, it's not worth it. For more decades than I'd care to say I have regretted spending that two dollars, and for what? Just to shed my virginity? I should have kept my chastity and the two dollars and spent it on beer instead. I implore you, resume your seat and let us continue our conversation."
"Sorry," said Milford.
"Damn you for a young fool!" said Quintillius.
"Hey, there," said Petronius, "no need for such harsh words, Quintillius."
"I shall not take them back," said Quintillius. He addressed Milford again. "I apologize for the necessity of saying 'damn you', Mugford, but I feel very strongly in this matter, and so curse you I must if you persist in this folly. Do you not realize that this –" he waved his hand and his arm grandiosely, "this is the very essence and meaning and veritable quiddity of life, yea, of existence? To sit here, in this bar, losers among fellow losers, speaking nonsense endlessly and drinking untold imperial pints of lager, with perhaps the occasional shot of inexpensive bourbon to alleviate the monotony?"
"Maybe you're right," said Milford, "but we're going anyway."
"Petronius!" said Quintillius. "Talk to them. Don't let them waste their young lives."
"He's right you know," said Petronius, addressing Addison and Milford together. "I myself have never spent one penny for a woman's favors, and I have not the slightest regret."
"Well, look, Petronius is it?" said Addison.
"Yes," said Petronius, "I am honored you remembered my prénom, Hoberman."
"Yes, well, anyway," said Addison, "the ladies we go in search of are nice ladies, and so, not only will we possibly not have to pay for their favors, but it is also in the realm of faint possibility that they would refuse payment even were we to offer it."
"Now, my friend," said Petronius, "you have entered the realm of the fantastic."
"Perhaps I have, but if I have, nevertheless I am in possession of a ten dollar bill, just in case."
"Ten dollars, you say?" said Petronius.
"Yes," said Addison. "And I'm sure my friend has some of the ready on him as well."
"How much, if I may ask?" said Petronius, to Milford.
"I don't know," said Milford.
"Is it more than ten?"
"Yes, I think it's more than ten."
"Is it more than twenty?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"It is more than twenty!" said the fat man.
"Okay," said Milford, to Addison, "let's go, Addison."
"Excuse me," said Petronius, "you're telling me that you have at least thirty dollars between the two of you, and yet still you are leaving? Do you have any idea of the number of imperial pints you could buy with that largesse?"
"It was nice meeting you," said Milford.
"What about me?" said Quintillius. "Was it not nice meeting me?"
"Uh, yes," said Milford. "Nice meeting you, too."
"And yet you persist in this folly."
"Yes," said Milford. "Good night."
"Mark my words," said Quintillius. "You will be back."
"Come on, Addison," said Milford.
"You still have time to change your minds," said Petronius. "Think of all the imperial pints! Not to mention the occasional shot of reasonably-price bourbon. Why, good heavens, you could even order some food! Just wait until you try the all-you-can eat spicy chicken wings, a bargain at only one U.S. dollar!"
"Pretty good, hey?" said Addison, tapping the first inch of ash of his Chesterfield to the floor, littered as it was with sawdust, spittle, and the butts of innumerable cigarettes and cigars.
"Not bad at all," said Petronius. "Go ahead, my lad, sit back down. The wings go really well with the house Loser Lager. The only thing is the bartender doesn't like it if you let other people share your wings, so maybe if you don't mind you could just go ahead and request four orders of the wings, that way we can all have some."
"Can you get them not so spicy?" asked Addison.
"Sure, just tell the bartender you want the mild spicy wings."
"Do they come with French fries?"
"Well, the French fries are à la carte actually, but for two bits you can get a very commodious basket."
"Pretty good fries? Crispy? I loathe soggy French fries."
"Addison," said Milford.
"Yes?" said Addison.
"Let's go."
"Oh," said Addison. "Okay."
"You're going to regret leaving," said Petronius.
"I've rarely done anything I haven't regretted," said Addison.
"But," said Petronius, "you haven't had the all-you-can-eat wings here, and that is something you will not regret, my friend.
Good plump juicy chicken wings, their skin fried to just the perfect crackling consistency, slathered in either the spicy or mild proprietary sauce, and with heapings of eminently crispy browned French fries on the side, with your choice of either ketchup or house-made dipping aïoli."
"I hope the aïoli isn't too garlicky," said Addison.
"Not at all, my good fellow! Frankly I prefer good old Heinz ketchup myself, but the aïoli has only the most subtle lacing of fresh and fragrant garlic."
"Well," said Addison, who hadn't eaten since his long ago noontide breakfast of two glazed doughnuts and chicory coffee at Ma's Diner, "that does sound appetizing –"
"Addison," said Milford, and he touched Addison's arm, "look, you can stay if you want to, but I'm going."
Addison seemed to hesitate for a moment, thinking of the happy prospect of lashings of golden lager washing down unlimited mild spicy chicken wings, crispy French fries on the side, with just the occasional filip of a shot of inexpensive bourbon, but then he remembered the ladies, especially that one lady, Emily, although that other one Harriet wasn't bad either…
"Okay," he said. "Let's go."
And the two friends turned away from the bar.
"You'll be sorry!" called Petronius. "The both of you!"
"You'll be back!" called Quintillius. "Tails betwixt your legs!"
Addison and Milford kept walking, through the smoke and the noise of the jukebox and the shouting of drunken men, towards the exit.
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