Guy walks into a bar - my little hole-in-the-wall bar, as matter of fact.
It was in mid-August and about three in the afternoon when I saw this elderly man, a stranger to me, limp up to the juke and labor over his selections. At the start of the first note, he smiled and made way towards the bar, dragging his cane slightly behind him.
After serving him my best sarsaparilla he told me that it was a special day and that he wished he could be with his daughter.
We talked a small bit, his songs finished long before his third sarsaparilla and, as he left, slurred "Thank you very much..."
And then it hit me and got the chills - the songs, that voice, a daughter. No one would believe me.
0 comments from fellow 'Basement' dwellers:
Post a Comment
Say something... Anything...