
He'd sit alone at a table by the wall and drink Joyce's watered down drafts. He had hands the size of baseball mitts and he was as silent and imposing as he was in the film. Everyone said he was crazy and we were all afraid of him.
One night I bought him a beer. Everyone watched to see how he would react. He flicked an eye in my direction as way of thanks, (at least that's what I thought he was saying.) He drank the beer down in one simple swallow, left the bar and we never saw him again.
I liked to think it was good for my karma.
1 comment:
I can so imagine the scene.
Post a Comment