Post by MissRedhead on Jun 19, 2011 13:10:56 GMT -8
The Night of the Usual Suspects
A dedication to my favorite song, Piano Man by Billy Joel
It was approaching nine o’clock on this Saturday night as Artemus Gordon, alias Joe, sat at the bar’s well-worn piano. The Dry Dock bar was a tiny hole in the wall on the docks of San Francisco Bay. It was nothing extravagant or special, dim lighting, dirty floors, cramped from too many pieces of furniture. Nonetheless, it had a regular crowd and a few irregular sailors shuffling into the first drinking establishment they saw.
Artemus, “Joe,” took a break from playing tunes on the aged piano and took a swig of beer from the stained mug that sat on the piano next to his coin jar. He half-turned on the piano bench to look around the place as he nursed the warm beer. An old man sitting at the table closest to the piano was holding a tonic and gin close to his chest and humming a sad tune with a faraway look in his eyes.
“Shonny,” the old man slurred, “play me a memory. I'm not really sure how it goes, but it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete, when I wore a younger man's clothes like that fella there in the blue.”
Artemus, “Joe,” followed the old man’s glance to the young fellow in a striking blue suit. Why Jim had to wear that suit and draw so much attention to himself was beyond Artie. Jim stood out like a sore thumb in this establishment.
“Joe” turned his attention back to the old man who was making an attempt at a tune.
“la la laaa, di da daaah La la, di di daaah da dummmmm”
This was the old man’s usual request and by now Artie was ready to suspect that the tune only existed in the old man’s mind.
Artemus, “Joe,” swung his legs back around the rickety bench, “Eh, I don’t think I know that one Pops, but I’ll give it a try.” Artemus cracked his knuckles and set about playing another tune. As he looked up into the dusty mirror set above the piano, “Joe” caught the eye of the bartender and motioned with his head for the bartender to come over.
“Gimme a light, will ya John,” “Joe” asked referring to the cheroot sitting on the piano ledge.
“Sure thing Joe,” John said with a smile and handed off the cheroot to “Joe” who did not need to break rhythm to pop it in his mouth.
John hesitated a moment, listening to melancholy tune. The smile that did not quite reach his eyes ran away from his face. “You know Joe,” John sighed.
Here it comes again Artemus, “Joe,” thought as he glanced at those sad eyes in the filthy mirror.
“Joe, I believe this is killing me,” John sighed again. “I could be a great actor if I could just get outta this dump.”
Artie highly doubted that but why ruin the poor guy’s daydreams. John walked away and started wiping down tables while the drunken old man next to him continued to hum his own tune.
“la la laaa, di da daaah La la, di di daaah da dummmmm”
As he played, Artie, “Joe,” took stock of tonight’s gathering. There was the real estate agent, Paul, who was trying to write a novel. The guy spent his days trying to convince rich customers to buy properties or rent stores around the Bay area. At night he “relaxed” by drinking and writing a novel, or so he claimed. Paul was too busy trying to make money or spending money on drinks to have any time to court a young lady for a wife. In a way, Artie knew the feeling, having a job that took every ounce of your time. He still at least tried to date some ladies in his spare time instead of getting drunk on a nightly basis.
Tonight Paul was sharing a drink with a fellow who went by the name Davy. Davy was in the US Navy and Artie had been trying to figure out how the man was not drummed out by now. Anyway, since Davy had not been drummed out by now, he would probably remain a mere deckhand for the rest of his life and never achieve any rank.
Another glance in the dusty mirror revealed the non-too young barmaid was busy practicing her politics on yet another patron who was too drunk to realize that she was there. In the back corner was a rather well-respected businessman of the San Francisco area. On Saturday nights he changed into work-worn looking clothing and sat at his table getting stoned. It was his way of relaxing after a grueling week of business as usual.
Artemus, “Joe,” puffed on his cheroot, hiding his feelings of pity and disgust. They all gathered here, every Saturday. Each one was in their own world while sharing a drink called loneliness. They never seemed to hear what each other was saying or bothered caring about how each other’s day went, but to them it was better than sitting at home drinking alone.
Finishing up his song with a slight flourish, Artemus, “Joe,” slowly blew smoke out of his mouth and turned to face the rest of the bar. A silence filled the bar as soon as the last notes faded and it seemed everyone paused from their drinking to direct their attention at the piano man.
“Sing us a song piano man,” one voice called.
“Yeah, give us another,” Paul the real estate novelist drunkenly raised his mug.
The sound of coins clinking in his jar redirected Artemus’ “Joe’s” attention to the bar. The manager had stepped out of the back room and was pushing the bartender with a beer in his direction. Business seemed to pick up a little since the new piano man had been hired.
Another voice called out, “with talent like that, why are you playing here anyway, *belch*”
The manager smiled and raised an eyebrow as if to ask “yes, why?”
Artie, “Joe” saluted the manager with his fresh glass of beer and turned back to the piano.
The old man started up again with another gin and tonic in his hands, “la la laaa, di da daaah La la, di di daaah da dummmmm.”
A dedication to my favorite song, Piano Man by Billy Joel
It was approaching nine o’clock on this Saturday night as Artemus Gordon, alias Joe, sat at the bar’s well-worn piano. The Dry Dock bar was a tiny hole in the wall on the docks of San Francisco Bay. It was nothing extravagant or special, dim lighting, dirty floors, cramped from too many pieces of furniture. Nonetheless, it had a regular crowd and a few irregular sailors shuffling into the first drinking establishment they saw.
Artemus, “Joe,” took a break from playing tunes on the aged piano and took a swig of beer from the stained mug that sat on the piano next to his coin jar. He half-turned on the piano bench to look around the place as he nursed the warm beer. An old man sitting at the table closest to the piano was holding a tonic and gin close to his chest and humming a sad tune with a faraway look in his eyes.
“Shonny,” the old man slurred, “play me a memory. I'm not really sure how it goes, but it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete, when I wore a younger man's clothes like that fella there in the blue.”
Artemus, “Joe,” followed the old man’s glance to the young fellow in a striking blue suit. Why Jim had to wear that suit and draw so much attention to himself was beyond Artie. Jim stood out like a sore thumb in this establishment.
“Joe” turned his attention back to the old man who was making an attempt at a tune.
“la la laaa, di da daaah La la, di di daaah da dummmmm”
This was the old man’s usual request and by now Artie was ready to suspect that the tune only existed in the old man’s mind.
Artemus, “Joe,” swung his legs back around the rickety bench, “Eh, I don’t think I know that one Pops, but I’ll give it a try.” Artemus cracked his knuckles and set about playing another tune. As he looked up into the dusty mirror set above the piano, “Joe” caught the eye of the bartender and motioned with his head for the bartender to come over.
“Gimme a light, will ya John,” “Joe” asked referring to the cheroot sitting on the piano ledge.
“Sure thing Joe,” John said with a smile and handed off the cheroot to “Joe” who did not need to break rhythm to pop it in his mouth.
John hesitated a moment, listening to melancholy tune. The smile that did not quite reach his eyes ran away from his face. “You know Joe,” John sighed.
Here it comes again Artemus, “Joe,” thought as he glanced at those sad eyes in the filthy mirror.
“Joe, I believe this is killing me,” John sighed again. “I could be a great actor if I could just get outta this dump.”
Artie highly doubted that but why ruin the poor guy’s daydreams. John walked away and started wiping down tables while the drunken old man next to him continued to hum his own tune.
“la la laaa, di da daaah La la, di di daaah da dummmmm”
As he played, Artie, “Joe,” took stock of tonight’s gathering. There was the real estate agent, Paul, who was trying to write a novel. The guy spent his days trying to convince rich customers to buy properties or rent stores around the Bay area. At night he “relaxed” by drinking and writing a novel, or so he claimed. Paul was too busy trying to make money or spending money on drinks to have any time to court a young lady for a wife. In a way, Artie knew the feeling, having a job that took every ounce of your time. He still at least tried to date some ladies in his spare time instead of getting drunk on a nightly basis.
Tonight Paul was sharing a drink with a fellow who went by the name Davy. Davy was in the US Navy and Artie had been trying to figure out how the man was not drummed out by now. Anyway, since Davy had not been drummed out by now, he would probably remain a mere deckhand for the rest of his life and never achieve any rank.
Another glance in the dusty mirror revealed the non-too young barmaid was busy practicing her politics on yet another patron who was too drunk to realize that she was there. In the back corner was a rather well-respected businessman of the San Francisco area. On Saturday nights he changed into work-worn looking clothing and sat at his table getting stoned. It was his way of relaxing after a grueling week of business as usual.
Artemus, “Joe,” puffed on his cheroot, hiding his feelings of pity and disgust. They all gathered here, every Saturday. Each one was in their own world while sharing a drink called loneliness. They never seemed to hear what each other was saying or bothered caring about how each other’s day went, but to them it was better than sitting at home drinking alone.
Finishing up his song with a slight flourish, Artemus, “Joe,” slowly blew smoke out of his mouth and turned to face the rest of the bar. A silence filled the bar as soon as the last notes faded and it seemed everyone paused from their drinking to direct their attention at the piano man.
“Sing us a song piano man,” one voice called.
“Yeah, give us another,” Paul the real estate novelist drunkenly raised his mug.
The sound of coins clinking in his jar redirected Artemus’ “Joe’s” attention to the bar. The manager had stepped out of the back room and was pushing the bartender with a beer in his direction. Business seemed to pick up a little since the new piano man had been hired.
Another voice called out, “with talent like that, why are you playing here anyway, *belch*”
The manager smiled and raised an eyebrow as if to ask “yes, why?”
Artie, “Joe” saluted the manager with his fresh glass of beer and turned back to the piano.
The old man started up again with another gin and tonic in his hands, “la la laaa, di da daaah La la, di di daaah da dummmmm.”
sing us a song you're the piano man
sing us a song tonight
well we're all in the mood for a melody
and you got us all feeling alright
sing us a song tonight
well we're all in the mood for a melody
and you got us all feeling alright