The Bar Dogs: At The Movie

Henry opened his eyes and noticed the alarm clock read, in digital blue, 11:12 AM. He padded clumsily to the bathroom, never well-coordinated just after waking, and stubbed the small toe on his left foot on the door frame. After splashing water on his face he watched himself in the mirror while brushing his teeth, and thought to himself, this is some life you lead.

Fumbling with his wallet he was relieved to see he still had two twenty dollar bills and four singles left over from the previous night. He paced the living room absent-mindedly from the window which over looked a fenced-in court yard lined with small trees, shrubs and a trim of splotchy grass, to the television which droned softly at the edge of his consciousness. The sun was high in a mostly clear sky. "It's beautiful fucking day," he said aloud, drumming his fingertips idly against his chest. He settled himself on the couch, reached for the worn paperback copy of the Tropic of Cancer on the glass coffee table and, after finding his place, marked as always with a playing card, began to read.

At noon he made himself a sandwich and washed it down with an ale while leafing through the previous day's New York Post; undoubtedly, he thought, smiling at the headline, LESBIAN NUN CAUGHT IN SEX SCANDEL, the most entertaining newspaper in New York City.

He finished with the paper by 12:30, and decided he would be catching a matinee showing of The Big Lebowski.

On the way to the theater he spotted a familiar sign, running vertically in red neon up the side of a squat two story building: Prince Spirits, though it actually read "ice Spit" due to the fact that most of the letters had shorted out.

He felt ridiculous wearing his beige trench coat, thinking he looked like some hard-boiled gumshoe from an old movie, buttoned nearly to the top to concealed the shape of the pint bottle of whiskey. The afternoon had warmed past 85° and Henry was sweating. He paid five dollars for his matinee ticket to a sleepy dark haired teenager with bad skin behind a Plexiglas window, and walked into air-conditioned lobby. After buying a large tub of popcorn--"Without that artificial butter on it, please"--and an a large Diet Coke, he entered the theater. There were four other people already sitting down, mostly towards rear of the room; he took a seat three rows from the front. Henry begin drinking his soda quickly. Just as the lights died down and the trailers rolled he had consumed just enough of the Diet Coke to make room for whiskey. He relished the aroma of the Jim Beam, aggressive, sweet and smoky, as it poured. After a final stir he took his first drink of the day and shuddered almost imperceptibly.

He had seen every film the Cohen brothers had made to date, and hadn't been disappointed yet. Barton Fink, he thought to himself, was a hell of a film. Henry sat with rapt attention once the movie started, slowly sipping his drink and began munching on popcorn.

Henry was feeling good as the lights brightened and the last of the movie goers had filed out of the theater. He stopped at the refreshment counter and bought another large Diet Coke and wandered, without caring, into the next closest theater, entering a movie in progress. He walked directly down the aisle to front of the theater, the second row, and sat down to the staccato explosions of automatic weapon fire. It didn't matter to him what the movie was. When he had drunk enough of the soda he poured in the whiskey.

It was nearly four o'clock when the second movie let out. Henry felt very good, if a bit rubbery and numb. He put on his sunglasses and made for the apartment he shared with Laura. He didn't mind the smell of the whiskey rising off his skin. The moment in his head was long and peaceful, extending and unfurling before him one step at time; himself graceful, splendid, complete.

When he arrived home he began drinking water fast, one glass after the other. He knew Laura would be home sometime after seven, and he would have dinner ready for her--pumpkin tortelini and garlic bread--and be mostly sober.