Posted by Administrator at 1:48 pm
“The local Glebe bar. It’s late at night, almost 1am. Closing time. The bar has that smell about it that suggests the carpet needs changing. Tacky lights flash around wooden ornaments that hang from the thin, plywood walls.
The bartender, Merv, walks past, checking his watch as he gives a pint-glass a token rub with his sweat rag. “Last drinks.” he announces. Perhaps a little too loudly, considering there’s only one man in the bar.
One tall, bearded man. One man wearing an old, grey panavision t-shirt he borrowed off another similar such man, in a town that he used to call home. One Luke Tierney.
Tierney stares ahead at the bar, looking into the mirror, his eyes distant and red. Tiredness? Drunkness? Sadness? Maybe all of the above. Maybe none of the above. Maybe some of the above. Maybe half of the above, and a few other emotions such as anger and fear. The only one who could know is indeed, the man himself. And not a soul would dare ask him in the state that he was looking as he stared so idly, yet so determined, at that smudgy bar mirror.
And in that smudgy reflection, the TV set changes colours, suddenly playing the Channel [V] “ripe” clip of the week. “The Good News” by The Philadelphia Grand Jury.
Almost immediately, (as though he has been waiting for this to happen) Tierney raises his glass. Beer splashes . He stands and holds the glass up high in the air. “CONGRATULATIONS TIERNEY” he says with such projection that you’d think he was addressing someone across the room. “You…FUCKING did it. Happy are you? Are you?”
Tears begin streaming down Tierney’s face.
Tierney breaks down to his knees.
“I didn’t think they would serve beer in hell.”