Until that stranger came in, looking more beat down than he did.
The stranger with the curly dirty-blonde hair.He’s got a wild, curly look,Moe thought, looking away in a slow heat that reached his neck and face.He has that Adam Sandler Jew-fro look to him. I wonder if he is Jewish…
Moe wasn’t gay, oranything, but he felt drawn to this person. He couldn’t stop looking at him.
He was graying up a bit himself, being fifty-six years old, and tried to check the dirty mirror behind the shelves of alcohol, looking at his teeth.
Why was he acting so foolish? What was going on in his head? Moe didn’t quite know. He started cleaning off some of the neon lights and the mirror, too. He tried to distract himself from those dirty blonde curls. It was making him feel weird.
He realized he was acting weirder than how he felt and decided to act like he didn’t care about the strange feelings in his throat, the strong pulse that was making him feel more alive than ever.
So, he asked what the stranger wanted to drink.
“Uh, I don’t know. What doyoulike?” the blonde man asked, looking at him with a slightly nervous smile.
The bartender looked at him, nonplussed, but then looked back at all of the alcohol and mixers, and the olives, Maraschino cherries, and peppers with cocktail onions.
“I ain’t ever been asked that. Well…” The bartender shrugged. “Do you want tofeelit in the morning or are you feeling like something light?”
The man smiled. “Something in the middle.”
“You wanna beer?”
“I haven’t had a beer in over three years. So, sure.”
“Okay.” Moe got out one of the imported beers, handing to him. Their hands touched for a moment.
They both looked at each other again. Tegan was curious about the bartender. And Moe was curious about the blonde man.
“What’s your name? I never seen you round here afore.”
The not-quite blonde shrugged, feeling comfortable with this man for some reason and decided to be honest with him.Why the heck not?he thought.
“I’m Tegan. I…I was recently released from jail. So…probably that’s why you have never seen me.” He sighed, drinking a long time, finishing off the beer within a minute. “Your name?”
Moe didn’t judge the man, thinking everyone had reasons for the things they did—hewasn’tperfect either. Everyone has a story, like Nina Simone said. MoelovedNina Simone.
“Moe.”
“Moe, you have a nice bar. Is this your bar?”
Moe looked at him a little surprised. “Why would you say it’s my bar?”
“Cause I saw you cleaning the signs on the wall, and the mirror behind the bar. Owners do that kind of work, without needing anyone telling them to do it. They take pride in their store. Right?”
Moe nodded. “Well, that’s right. I’m the owner.” He felt a bit out of place, as they suddenly took on a bit of an unofficial staring contest—-the blonde man’s cool green eyes staring straight into Moe’s gray ones.
Tegan was trying to figure him out, and it scared Moe.
But he stared right back.
“Do you want another drink, uh…Tegan?” Moe asked, but it came out squeaky. His hands felt warm and too sweaty, and his ears felt hot. Like someone hit them too hard, and they burned and were ringing too.
“You never asked me why I was in jail.”
Moe frowned. “None of my business.”
“Bartenders are notorious for making everyone’s lives their business, Moe. That’s how you get regulars. Keep them coming back for your good strong drinks and open ears.”
