SHOOT ME NOW, TAKE TWO 

Author's note: Scout's honor, these are (mostly) snippets of conversation I overheard in a Northwoods tavern at the ragged end of the Fourth of July weekend, late into happy hour when a rainstorm cancelled the fireworks not once but twice pushing people indoors for other amusements:

SCENE:  A local watering hole in the Northwoods, the kind where people can get a bite to eat as well as some liquid refreshment, a few tables in the corners with families, a dozen or two patrons around the polished pine bar who ducked in to get out of the pouring rain that eclipsed the fireworks for the second day in a row.  Outside, it is torrential.  Inside, it's happy hour.

Three young patrons who look beamed in from the 80's sit nearby at the bar, a boyfriend/girlfriend couple and their male friend.  They've apparently been there a while doing 2-for-1's.  

Rachel, an attractive young twenty-something woman in black tank top and white jeans, is tending bar.   Steven, the male half of the couple working on his second or third or fourth second drink, owns the italicized lines.

"Hey, if I had a baby I'd name it Brie.  After Michael's cat."  

"Brie?  Like the cheese?"

"No, like Michael's cat."

(Billie Jean starts playing on the jukebox.)

"Hey, isn't that Michael Jackson?  My kids would probably listen to him, but he's dead." 

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Waking up."

"That's a hell of a thing.  A hell of a thing.  Four hours ago I thought I was gonna need a snowmobile, with this shit outside.  So what are you doing tomorrow?"

"Waking up."

"Well, if you top the boat off you should be good to go.  If you wake up."

(Chain Lightnin' by 38 Special starts playing on the jukebox.)

"Here's a song you don't hear often.  It ought to be on their Greatest Hits, but it isn't."

"Yes it is."

"No it isn't."

"I have it.  I know."

"It outta be."

"Hey, this song is from your generation." 

"At least it's not bee-bop." 

"Can you play some Bob Marley for me on the jukebox?  Three Little Birds?"

"Anyone who listens to Bob Marley is a communist.  Or dead".

"I figured everyone thought I was blowing too much hot air, so I decided to use the other end for a while so they'd appreciate it more." 

(Psycho Killers by Talking Heads comes on the jukebox.)

"I'm ready for that second drink now, Rachel.  My second second drink."

"You two look like a brother and sister.  But from Idaho."

"You would know." 

"Hey, keep your eyes on your own paper, Rachel.  You're the Anna Corn-a-kova of the Northwoods."

"Ready to go, Steven?"

"Like a demon."

(Together)  "Stop, drop and roll!"  (she points at him with both hands like pistols)  

 For Part One, see:  Shoot Me Now