“Hey, Raul. How is it going?”
“Oh, it’s going pretty good,” he said, “But when it’s going good that means I’m tired from tending bar.”
We brought the last of the equipment into Fido’s and began setting up the equipment for our gig.
“Bartender, bring me another beer,” called a tourist who was sitting at a table near the bandstand.
“The last thing you need is another beer,” his wife said. “You’ve already had six and besides, beer makes you fat.”
Raul brought the beer and the tourist said, “Bring me two more, please.”
“You miserable worm!” his wife said, as he gulped his beer. “My mother warned me that you were an alcoholic.”
Raul delivered the next two beers and the tourist started working on them.
“She was right,” the man’s wife said. “I never should have married you. I cannot believe that I turned down a proposal from Johnny Sinclair. He not only is rich but he is not a fat, bald drunk, either.”
“Bartender, I’ll have one more,” the man called.
When he got his last beer, the man sipped it in silence.
“You have no idea how much I love you,” he finally said. “You give me peace and understanding that I can’t get anywhere else.”
“Yeah. Right!” his wife said. “That’s just the beer talking.”
“No, it’s not,” the man said. “That’s me talking to the beer.”
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