"seems like a pretty decent night for you tonight."

- this? tonight? this was crazy, wasn't this crazy, jimmy, wasn't tonight crazy. see? yeah. crazy, man. crazy.

"you're doing a healthy business."

- still had a waiting list still had people waiting. time's it that we finally got rid of the waiting list, jimmy. ten thirty? yeah you could say a waiting list of people waiting til ten thirty's healthy.

(glen walked in round ten, just as things were returning from fubar to snafu. around eleven, the situation went from snafu to what the hell just happened. the final numbers were 203 all night. a normal but good tuesday for us would be 140. jimmy's eyes were dollar signs. if you went out to dinner last night and were seated by a guy who couldn't wipe the smile off his face from all the money he knew he was making, you were quite possibly at our place. and if the guy seating you was wearing a green and silver striped tie with green plaid golf-looking pants, quite possibly becomes a hundred percent.) 

"what is that you're drinking there."

it's a car bomb though some people don't like it when we call it that so we don't call it that. you want one?

"no thanks."

what're you gonna, stay with your snakebites all night long?

"for a little while, anyway."

- don't think you're better than me cause you're not halfway toasted.

"that's not why i think i'm better than you."

- you gonna call mom, tell her i got loaded, aren't you.

"or i'll send her an email."

(glen's little trick is to call her the morning after drinking with me the night before. he exaggerates the amounts i consumed, knowing damn well she'll call me soon as she's off the phone with him. which she did. at eight fifteen this morning. i let it go to voicemail, but she called right back, cause she figured i was just letting it go to voicemail. one of these nights, i'll turn my phone off before i pass out.)

"mom's going to the doctor."

- shut up.

"she is."

- mom is? to the doctor?

"just for a checkup."

- since when is mom going to the doctors now.

"what do you two talk about when you talk."

- me.

"there's a lot that goes on with her, you know."

(glen's got it in his brain that she doesn't tell me important details about her life. i get the surface-y stuff bout who's asking her out, who's angry at her and vice versa, what fleegle has eaten that didn't agree with fleegle and the manner in which what fleegle ate was disagreeable, while glen gets the meat and bones stuff of health and finances and the deeper stuff, that closer to the marrow stuff, i guess. and what he's got in his brain is true. but it's also true that she loves me more, likes me better, prefers me to glen.)

- so she doesn't have a thing bout doctors now?

"i guess not."

- but she's okay? it's just a checkup?

"as far as i know."

- well, that's good then, isn't it. if she's over the doctor thing?

(she has/had a thing with doctors ever since one made dad cry. it's the only time i ever saw him cry. he whimpered a bunch. his voice broke a bunch. his lower lip trembled a bunch. but only once did he cry, and that was when he called his longtime doctor, who shall remain nameless (except for his first name is alexander, and his middle name is grether, and his last name begins with b and is five letters long. there, that oughtta do it). doctor alexander grether b-x-x-x-x had all along told dad the back pain was nothing to worry bout, dad just needed to toughen up a bit. back pain got worse and worse, dr b-x-x-x-x prescribed more and more painkillers. he even told dad it was all psychosomatic. then dad collapsed in the shower one morning, mom called me, we dragged him to the emergency room, where all the tumors were discovered. dad called doctor b-x-x-x-x to rag him out, then went silent. then hung up. then cried but only a little bit, a few tears. he never told anyone what doctor b-x-x-x-x said to him or if he said anything at all.)

(so that's why mom's been loathe to visit a doctor past couple years.)

- hey, see that guy over there? that real muscly guy with the little flavor savor?

"at eighteen?"

- who told you the table numbers.

"i know the table numbers, (squirrel)."

- how.

"is it the guy at eighteen?"

- yeah. his boyfriend wears a tank-top all the time cause he's some workout guy or something, like a trainer or something. but he always wears a tank-top.

"you don't say."

- don't do that. his boyfriend threatened to kick my ass cause i was a smartass last summer.

"should have. you could use an ass-kick."

- you know WHY he did though? 

"are you going to tell me or ..."

- he, so, okay, so ... he was looking at the menu and he waved me over like i had nothing better to do and he pointed out the specials insert, which i didn't even type up, it was jimmy who typed it up, and jimmy put a buncha words in caps for some reason. and the guy was real ticked about it for some reason and this guy said indiscriminate use of caps is really unattractive. this, this, this ... like i had nothing better to do, right? so i told him yeah well indiscriminate wearing of tank-tops ain't exactly handsome. he started yelling bout how he was gonna kick my ass.

"but he didn't."

- kick my ass? nah, he didn't, no. just talked about it.

"i wonder if erin wants to go home yet."

(his wife and my special lady friend went out to this place over on foster, this irish place bout a half hour away. they whooped it up, drank a bunch, smoked a buncha cigarettes, which they don't normally do, but once or twice a year, they cut loose and chain smoke like fiends. needs must, apparently. i can understand it, the urge. i used to have a few with drinks myself. but almost never since the old man kicked it. in fact, there was a brief period after he died that glen and i became a pair of yul brynners bout smoking. couldn't stand to be around it, couldn't see someone smoking without lecturing them. the period was brief, only a few months, but we're told we were big jerks for a while there. which i don't doubt.)

- what.

"nothing."

- what, come on, what.

"i was thinking about dr. (b-x-x-x-x)."

- him? he's in arizona or somewhere, peddling hgh to old farts.

"i was pretty mad at him."

- shit, i wanted you to beat his ass.

(glen, who i think i have mentioned is a lot bigger than me, confronted him in the hospital parking lot. did the chest bump shove thing, went nose to nose with him. doctor b-x-x-x-x asked him to please step away or something like that. glen didn't, and i'm pretty sure was making fists. anyhow, i pulled him away, even though i wanted nothing more than to let glen resurface the parking lot with the guy's face. the doctor got into his car, drove away and that was it. glen kinda disappeared for a while after that. didn't really see a whole lot of him til dad was in hospice and only had a day or two left.)

"you want --"

(wait. before i go on, i don't mean that like glen wasn't around. he was. in no way did he abandon mom or dad. it's just that our paths didn't cross. his and mine. and we kinda didn't talk on the phone very much. not til the very very VERY end. that's all i meant by him kinda disappearing.)

"you want to go get a slice?"

- i like the way you think.

"do they take debit cards?"

- don't be an asshole.

"most places take debit cards now, (squirrel)."

- if you use a debit card to pay for a three dollar slice, i will punch you in the teeth.

"if you punch me in the teeth, i will break your face."

(glen could break my face whenever he wanted if he wanted. it is only thanks to my lucky stars that glen has never wanted. cause i goad him all the time. specially after i've had a few.)

- you break my face and i'll get up and hit you in the jaw so that it goes up into those nerves up there, and you get all twitchy.

"how will you do that with a broken face."

- don't need a face to hit you.

"do you have cash for the pizza?"

- shit, i'll just take cash outta the drawer. how much we getting. should i take twenty? cause that's like six slices right there.

"you hear that, jim?"

- oh not THAT bullshit again. jesus i was kidding. you two need to start playing a different whatchamacallit, cause that one's stupid.

(it's a little bit they got going that annoys the shit outta me. the drawer's been light lately, and honestly, the only one who could be helping himself is me. that's the bit and maybe i'd appreciate it more, take it in better stride, if the drawer wasn't in fact light too often lately, if it wasn't troubling, or if there was at least one other person it could be. cause objectively it could only be me but it's not.)

"i think it might be time to head home."

- eh come on, one more.

"nope. afraid not. grab a slice then get a cab."

- come on, one more.

"it's one o'clock, (squirrel)."

- what're you, the time guy? come on, one more.

"the body need what the body need."

- shit, you and dad. all right, all right, lemme find my ... hey, who moved my coat! come on. where's my ... oh. okay. there it is. all right.

(so the old man had a ... a certain fondness for food. a buncha our family weekend getaways were nothing more than trips to investigate places he'd heard or read about. we once drove to door county cause someone told him there was a spaghetti all you can eat. we went halfway to kentucky cause he'd heard talk of a roadside diner that deep-fried the sausage and bacon. we spent a weekend in grand rapids cause within a ten mile radius, one could indulge in the best fruit pies in the midwest, a damn fine cornish pasty, a basket of hush puppies that'd bring you one step closer to god, a meatball sandwich for two bucks, chili mac that was so spicy it made the five-alarm stuff seem like baby food, and a few others that i can't remember right now.)

(the point is - and yes, there is a point, it just took me a while to get to it - many times, we'd all be piled into the car, heading somewhere, and dad would suddenly pull over if he found some place he wanted to check out. when asked what the hell he was doing, he would say one of three things. 'seem to be having a bit of brake trouble here' or 'the body need what the body need' or 'don't ask questions.')

(the other point is glen has picked up a couple of dad's sayings, even though he refuses to admit it. a couple mannerisms too. he nibbles on pen caps, then spits out the nibbled bits, just like the old man used to.)