Blog Noir #2

For a change it was a good week for this old hound and his battered liver. When I started bumping into old acquaintances at a boozy joint in town I knew it'd end up in me feeling like a freight train had run over my head.
The joint was jumpin' it had people from all over the world here, all walks of life, the atmosphere was one that I ain't gonna forget in a hurry. No shooters here, just big ol' glasses with big ol' beer. Need to get me some of that.
You get all sorts in here, from the big jolly guy who drinks in some dodgy t-shirt but makes every drink count, he's hanging out with his two skinny geeky mates, one with hair down to his shoulders like he wants to be a rock star or something, knows about beer though that kid and the other who gets so excited about everything that I'm afraid I'll be cleaning brain matter off my clothes for weeks but he's like a puppy on speed when it comes to the good stuff. Then there's the starers, these guys creep me out, if you get so sauced that all you can do is stare, don't get sauced. And don't even get me started on the goddamn beer activists, these guys will shout at you all day long about anything and fuckin everything, 2 pint motormouths who know everything, you wanna shut em up after the first hour then you just ignore them and they turn into just more background noise.
The bar tenders are out in force too, an older guy waves as I walk past, it's like one of those TV memories, black and white slo-mo, this guy's a legend, I need to catch up with him later, but he's busy so I leave him be.
I bump into one of the hacks that this place attracts, he's looking pretty beat in his wrinkled clothes and a loud shirt that says I'm trying to look fresh but really not feeling it, must have been a long night up until the deadline, now everyone wants a piece of him, I guess that's what you get for being famous.
All the other wannabe hacks are here too, they want their shot in the limelight, they want their 15 minutes of fame and so standing near their hero, they hope some of his genius'll rub off on 'em, he's influential dontcha know.
A good time was had by all I guess but now it's time to get some shut eye, next week is gonna be a long one. My wife ain't home, she's off in some God forsaken city and there ain't a damn thing I can do about it.
My sore head says get the fuck outta here, take a pill, ease the week off gently into oblivion with a last cold beer, can my pickled liver take it? who knows, but I'm sure as shit gonna find out.