The relentless sun glowed through an eerie haze emanating from raging wildfires, and hung in the sky until its merciful set.
Global Warming
Hank was having a beer at the local saloon and waiting for his food when he noticed, from the next bar stool, an inquisitive stare.
“Do you drink to be apologetic, or to be apocalyptic?“ inquired the stranger, his voice cutting through the hum of two window air conditioners. “I’m Buzz. I’m here for the karaoke.”
Hank looked up from his beer and half-heartedly replied. “I’m done making apologies about my life, and I don’t think about the apocalypse. I guess that means I’m neither.“
Temperatures hovered near 100 degrees outside to fuel a summer-long midwestern drought. Hank was seeking refuge in the bar and had every intention to keep to himself, eat his dinner, and have a few cold beers.
“I’ll have a burger and some wings,“ barked Buzz, knocking back a rum and coke and continuing to badger Hank. “I’m a bone-in-wing guy, brother.”
A man painted green was singing country music on the small karaoke stage. “One-Punch Walt,” the resident bouncer, observed stoically from his stool by the door. “I’m a singer,“ boasted Buzz, again without invite. “I go to places where I’m appreciated. I’m a serious singer.“
Hank squeezed a slice of lime into his beer. Buzz continued to pester him and babble on. “What if we convert ourselves, piece-by-piece, into androids, and find a way to add our DNA. We could achieve immortality.”
“Who knows,“ Hank shrugged, changing the subject. “Do you see the old guy sitting over there staring at the TV? My grandpa was like that. He went to the bar on Friday nights to watch baseball.”
Buzz seemed to be listening. He signaled for another drink, two fingers slapping his wrist, a double.
Hank took a swig of beer. “I’ve seen his ghost. Back when I played city league ball, there was a shadow that moved in and out of the stands. I’m sure it was my grandpa watching.”
Buzz leaned over and took a friendlier tone. “I get it about your gramps. But I say, give me a visit from Tony Bennett. I saw him sing when he was alive. When he went full acapella, women were rushing the stage.“
Hank heard a cackle of laughter and saw Sam “the Greeter” amble in to take a seat at the bar. Sam was the greeter at the supermarket. He was always there, waving and saying hello, when you first stepped into the store. “Howze things with you, Hank,“ he smiled. “I saw ‘On Golden Pond’ on TV this afternoon, not a bad movie. I forgot Dabney Coleman was in it.“
“I would’ve rather seen someone like Dyan Cannon instead of Jane Fonda play the angry daughter part,” interrupted Buzz, “but I guess they wanted a real-life father-daughter fight to make it more realistic.“
Sam grinned at Buzz and winked. “Henry Fonda was a bitter old cuss and Dabney Coleman really let him have it.”
“Yeah, Henry Fonda was just following his man-code,“ snorted Buzz. “You know how it goes. Be the lion, be righteous, control your temper, that sort of thing.”
Hank craned his neck and glanced out the window. In the parking lot, three feral cats rummaged in the dumpster. Feral cats were multiplying in the neighborhood. “Don’t get scratched by one,” warned Hank. You could get distemper.”
“Cats are apex predators,” spouted Buzz. “But what about dogs? We made them from wild animals. Wolves. We needed love. Now we have dogs.“
Two women swizzled drinks and slow danced while Herb, a local “shaman,” chanted freedom psalms from the karaoke stage. “I mean, in reality, what the hell ARE we?” pleaded Buzz, to no one in particular.
Bert rattled in from a dry day on the farm and plopped down on his customary stool. He came in every Friday for the fish fry. “It’s gonna rain, I know it,“ he grumbled, wiping his craggy face with a sweaty bandana.
Buzz was quick to jump in. “This drought is brutal. On my way here, I saw a man crossing the bridge wearing a confederate coat. It must’ve been 110 degrees out.“
“He lives by the river, he’s a survivalist,” Hank explained. “One night I was in here and I saw him talk a guy down who was having a flashback from the war. Someone was singing Steppenwolf’s ‘Monster’ and the guy snapped.”
“It’s gonna rain. It’s right there in the book,“ muttered Bert, oblivious to the conversation. “You can find everything in that book. Been in my family for over a hundrit’ years.“
Hank had seen “the book” before. Bert kept the book in the glove box of his truck and would bring it into the bar now and then. It was some sort of state-issued almanac from the early 1900s.
A young, decorated Marine was singing a ballad on the stage. His family and friends crowded close. Buzz saluted the Marine from his bar stool and drew the conversation back to himself.
“In the neighborhood where I grew up, the family next-door had nine boys. The oldest was in the Marines. When he was home on leave, he would play against us in football. He would crawl with the ball across the yard and carry everybody on his back. We couldn’t stop him. He won every time.“
The bartender delivered Hank’s plate of steak and shrimp. “Good choice, my man, on the food,“ leered Buzz. “I’d be happy to clean up the shrimp if you get your fill.“
“Buzz!“ came the booming voice of the karaoke deejay.
Buzz cupped a drink in his left hand and steadied himself. The music bed softened, then rose. He stepped onto the stage and crooned out “New York, New York,“ reveling in a smattering of applause, and a standing-o from Sam the Greeter.
Buzz returned to his stool and scribbled down his next karaoke request. He eagle-eyed the bartender. “Take this note to the deejay. And where, may I ask, are my burger and wings?”
Hank was ready to cash out. “I’m done, it’s too hot, I can’t cool off,” he complained, moving away from Buzz. “I’m sure I’ll see you in here again. Nice job with the Sinatra.”
Buzz set his drink on the bar and his voice softened. “Hey, I’m sorry if I invaded your personal space.”
Hank edged toward the exit. “I don’t have any personal space. I don’t think about it that way.”
Buzz slapped two fingers on his wrist and ordered another double. “Okay, man, that’s fair. I get it.”
Meanwhile, Bert polished off his second helping of fish and left a generous tip. “It’s gonna rain, dammit,” he groused. “It’s in the book. Don’t believe any of that global warming crap.“