The Wilderness Years - Naugahyde Pt. 1

The ritual of the habit has always been one of my favorite phrases, and when you get right down to it home is where the habit is, you can feel at home almost any place as long as there is the routine, oh i know people don't like to admit it but it's there in everything we do, we are creatures of habit, my favorite habit was walking to the bar, Mitchell's in particular, the drinks were cheap and strong and the happy hour crowd colorful, i'd often throw darts or play pinball as the jukebox pumped out a steady diet of Marvin Gaye, the Four Tops, Barry White, CCR, the Stones, the Kinks, P-Funk, it was a lovely fucking time damn near every night and i was becoming a fixture, the tall white kid with dreads, i was the well spoken kid who might have a side gig, the last time i had lived in this hood the good Doctor and i were regulars here and sometimes i'd do a little business out of the place, there was the legendary hash Thursday where i got about half the bar blitzed on hash, the pipe travelling to and fro and people looking bummed when it kicked on them only for someone to hand it back to me so i could pack it up again, back then it was college night, now it was the working stiffs and i was now officially one of them... or so i said...

So many nights i would come home from work and check the messages, things had picked up a little bit and every now and then to cut down on traffic at my place and give my roommates a break i'd head to the bar, i'd weigh and bag and walk over, Mitchell's had been home to so many petty criminals over the years it damn near felt safe, like a clubhouse for hoods, a nod and a wink sorta place,  that didn't mean you could be stupid and i wouldn't advise just shouting out what you had but it seemed like one of those places cops ignored, except of course when they wanted to score and a few of them were regulars, getting weed and coke from Karen the Jewish bartender, she was the go between, the buffer between the Fuzz and the hustlers, the cops were happy cuz they got their gear and the hoods were happy cuz if the cops ever heard anything was up the phone would ring and whispers passed about to be cool, all those who needed to know would be told and when the heat lifted it was back to business as usual... Karen had massive respect and the last place you wanted to be was on her shit list, she had a quick and dirty sense of humor and used to strut up and down the bar, frizzy black hair in tight jeans or a short skirt, she had no qualms about telling someone how she liked to fuck and she'd make men blush talking a blue streak about what she'd do to them, of course she never took any of them home when she was working but once she was off it was fair game, the brothers were her favorite and she had chewed up and spit out more than a few, but she commanded the bar for the happy hour crowd and in turn the place achieved a serene and strange peace...

Around this time i had fully embraced the cheap Scotch and beer lifestyle espoused by a certain poet, for less than five bucks (including a tip) i could get a Scotch and water and a bottle of beer, good city dive drinks too, a Scotch and water you'd have to choke down but come the third one and the world was fucking gorgeous... at least until the hangover kicked in, the dart board was in the back of the place and at times i'd be so drunk i'd have to hold onto the wall so i wouldn't fall down while i threw, at the dartboard i was a quick study and soon found it easy to find a partner to shoot Cricket, the old winner stays challenger plays bar rules and some nights i never put coins in the machine except for that first game, the games were intense but friendly and there was never any hustling, it was playing for the sport, for the competition and it was a good way to pass from late afternoon to early evening...

Now if i was going for the cinematic effect i'd say that it was a Tuesday afternoon and Sinatra's Luck Be A Lady was playing, Frank got his fair share of run at this place as well... but it wasn't, i was sitting at the bar near the door, when you walked in the past the grimy glass alcove and past the steel door the first thing you saw was a large rectangular wood bar, Cherry Masters in the corner straight ahead, the jukebox on the right next to the door, past the bar the place opened up with tables in the center and booths along both walls, the right side had the handshake drug booths, red naugahyde with high backs, a single light hanging above, there were about 4 of them and past the booths the bathrooms and payphone in the back corner, on the opposite was another alcove with a bench along the wall and more tables and then the dartboard, a set of steps led up to a door that connected to a cheap and good restaurant, the place was always dimly lit and seemed to get dimmer as the night went on...

And so there i was on my stool partaking in my first Scotch and water of the day, my bottle of High Life next to it, it had been a slow day at the office and so i took the walk to the bar, it was an Indian summer day, pleasantly warm and much to bright once you entered the cavern of Mitchell's Tavern, once the eyes adjusted it seemed every time the door open it was a blast from some alien world outside, i was sitting and mindlessly listening to the chatter when suddenly there was a face in mine, I know you she said and i blinked and examined the tiny space between her teeth and simple wavy black hair, the boutique hippie dress and scent of patchouli, she had worked at the bagel shop for three days on my first go round in the burgh, it had probably been 18 months or so since i had seen her and having only worked with her three days i couldn't remember her name, just knew she talked her way into the job to work a few days and collect a check, she confirmed as much as we started talking, she introduced me to an older hippie and by older i mean a guy in his mid-forties, it was her ex man and she just stopped by to have a drink with him, she sat there and started talking about how i was always stoned at the bagel gig, i laughed and concurred and the old hippy who's name was Jack added some yeah mans and laughed along too, it was just one of those things, a person sees someone they worked with but didn't really know and decides to start yapping, i had nothing to do i didn't mind, i began to glean that she was tiring of the whole hippie/ Dead scene and was definitely not into banging guys twice her age anymore, for a minute i thought she might be sizing me up but i didn't really want much to do with it and so we talked a bit more and then she said her goodbyes and then got up and left...

Her name was Dina and i watched her walk out the door and then turned to see that Hippie Jack had taken up the stool next to mine, now in it's own demented and warped way it was like that show Guardian Angel that once clogged up the airways, i didn't watch the show or believe in fucking angels but i knew the gist and maybe Dina knew something we didn't and now she had to go off and save a litter of puppies or something but first she had to put two potheads who wanted to make a living selling pot next to each other, Hippie Jack looked at me and rasped, i was really hoping she wanted to screw... she about killed me when we were together, i gave a wry smile and nod and then he proceeded to tell me all about the his ill-fated love affair with Dina, a girl half his age and who had sorta kinda broken his heart...

So i sat and listened as Hippie Jack told his tale, a tale of old hippie meets young nubile hippie and can't believe his luck when he beds her and then continues to do so and she moves in and he's thinking it's all PB&J, bliss and blotter until one day she stops fucking him and then shortly after moves out and in with her new much younger man, she enrolls in school, gets back in her daddy's good graces, (no more snagging a job for three days for a few bucks) and of course the last thing daddy wanted to see was his daughter shacking up with a guy who's much closer to his own age than his little girls and though parts of the tale are tinged with bitterness there is also a bit of self deprecation and the sense of who the fuck did he think he was kidding? he knew she wouldn't stay around forever but he was still glad she stopped by... even just for a little while... and in the end he sure was a likable fucking sort so i bought him a Jack and Coke...

And so we conversed... you know how if you're at a party and you put the two poets or marketing sorts or hypochondriacs next to each other the conversation will inevitably turn to poesy or shilling or fake illnesses? well the same things happens with wastoids and so the young guy with dreads sat with the older hippie with long black hair just starting to go gray, a full beard and the ever present sandals, and began trading stories about doing drugs, mostly about heroic doses of mushrooms and acid with the occasional grass story tossed in and in the course of this conversation which had gone on for over an hour or so i made mention that i sold a little bit of grass here and there, his eyes lit up and asked if it was any good, i told him not really and he smiled and leaned in and laughed the said i think i can help you...