There are some bars that are like walking into a Bukowski story. I think that’s why I love the Clinton Street Pub.
This last Saturday, my lady and I having just completed a successful mall trip for new sheets, we wandered into the CSP around 2PM for a much-needed drink. Finding a place at the bar we lit a smoke and ordered a couple of pints. The man, one stool down from us, piped up.
“Those drinks are on me!” he said with half-closed lids. It was almost aggressive, the way he said it. Kind of a happy aggression, a we’re-all-gonna-have-a-good-time-and-like-it-damnit aggression.
“Why,” we queried?
“My horse came in! I bet on the bitch and the bitch came in! 6 to 1! I bet one hundred dollars and it paid out $600.”
Rags to Riches. For those of you who have not heard, Rags to Riches is the first filly in a very long time to win the Belmont stakes. Bless’er.
“Wow,” I said. “You’re a lucky man,” I said.
“And you’re drinking for free, chuckles,” he replied.

Yes, this man called me chuckles. Surely it’s something that I could overlook. I mean, considering the guy was buying the rounds.

So yeah, there are some bars, on some days, which are like walking into a Bukowski story. The horses come in or don’t come in, someone’s buying rounds, the guy on the bar stool next to you is going on a date with his buddies wife… “They’re swingers, so he better not mind if I fuck her.”

It’s the rich tapestry of life, my friends. Drink it up.