Blue Money

We visited that local Irish Pub, Huntington Beach, Ca. She ordered a Guinness. The house band was too loud and we think they used a wind machine, blowing their hair back and drying their sweat. I twisted the rings on her fingers, occasionally kissing the top of her hand. One pint was enough at this joint. Out the door and on to the next scene. She opens the door for me from the passengers side. Just cause my handle's broke doesn't mean the engine don't go. It fire's up like the first roar of a baby lion. We screech out of the parking lot into Saturday night. A Merle Haggard tape struggles out the speakers, it sounds like his band is making popcorn. We pull into somewhere new. The door guy checks her I.D. and as I reach for mine he says, "Nah, you're good." The pool tables are upholstered with cheetah print and there's waterfall screen savers playing on the TV's. The bartender makes eye-contact with her boobs and looks at me like we've had beef for years. One pint was enough at this joint. Out the door and on to the next scene. We decide to return home. At least we have a sense of humor and we never judge anything for too long. What I really wanted that evening I finally received, cold Chardonnay & her blue money. RW