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2000-08-25 | 11:00:18

the name's nictate. i live in the city of angels. i make a living, keep my nose clean. sometimes, though, a girl gets thirtsy. sometimes a girl wants to make nice on the town.

girls like me travel in pairs. we know what's what.

it was a dry, warm night. the santa anas were slumbering. the air still. as i walked up to the formosa cafe, i knew something was up. i could sense it. something wasn't jake. could it be the place was haunted by the old hollywood stars who noshed on pupu platters within its glossy red walls back in the day? maybe the old souls were restless. i knew i was.

i walked in the bar, glanced around. i saw a raven-haired bird perched at the bar. my gal pal, karina. then i noticed him. some tom, dick or harry was chattin' her up. no surprise there. she's a looker from way back. and a good listener, too--which is good for the talker, but not so good for her. she's got heart, that girl.

i hugged her hello. tom, dick or harry played the knight and let me take his barstool. i give him the once-over. looked harmless enough. big guy. t-shirt and baseball hat. strong features. lumbering demeanor. de more he drinks, demeanor he gets. sorry, but puns are like rhinestones on cat-eye glasses...they really doll the joint up.

so we talk to the guy. he works indirectly for a guy you know as hef. you know the one, he likes the silk pajamas and women with lungs that go on for days. so this guy says to us, he says, "i hope i'm not boring you. creepy bar guy here doesn't want to monopolize your evening. creepy bar guy just wanted to come out for a drink and a salad."

he was trying to let us know that he was on the up-an-up, see. so we talk to him, see, for the rest of the night. karina and i are what they call accomodating. we are polite, like our mamas taught us.

talking music was the order of the day. or night, as it were. he seemed to be on-the-level. the kid had smarts. you could smell it on him like the stink on provolone that's been left on the deli counter too long.

creepy bar guy was alright. an aw-shucks schmo with a heart of gold. he'd make some dame a nice lawn jockey one day. but i don't have any grass out front right now, see, and karina has a spouse to mow her yard, if you know what i mean.

we left the joint in the wee hours and bid creepy bar guy adieu. he walked away apologetically. his shoulders up around his ears like a gangster moll's mink stole.

me and karina, we grinned and shook our heads. of all the hip joints in all the world, creepy bar guy had to walk into ours.

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take a peek at these - (c) 2000-2003 nictate:

health tip
2005-03-16

health tip
2005-03-16

moving house
2004-11-19

quibbling with quitherfeather
2004-11-17

catcher in the wry
2004-11-16