"The Bar With No Name"

 

Addison held the door open, Milford passed through, and Addison followed him, the door closing behind them. 

An enormous bearded burly fellow sat on a high stool to the right of the doorway.

"Hold on, fellas," he said.

"Hello," said Addison.

The man wore a watch cap such as longshoreman and sailors wear, and a thick grey turtleneck sweater. He had a lighted cigar in one hand, and next to his stool was a small high table with a box of Ohio Blue Tip kitchen matches on it and an ashtray filled with cigar butts.

"First time in here, right?"

"Yes, sir," said Addison.

"You guys know how to read?"

"We do, sir," said Addison. "In fact, we are both literary men, myself a novelist and my friend a poet."

"So if you can read," said the man, "I take it you read the sign on the door."

"You mean," said Addison, "the sign saying, 'Abandon hope, all ye who enter here'?"

"There ain't no other sign on it," said the man.

"Yes, well, we did read the sign," said Addison.

"And so," said the big guy, "am I to assume you have abandoned hope?"

"Look," said Milford, "we've just been chased by an angry mob of douchebags out for our blood, then we were trapped in the world's slowest elevator with the world's oldest elevator operator, after which we wandered all through a dark basement and a warren of dim corridors, and all we want now is to sit quietly, have a few minutes of peace and rest, and then we'll be on our way."

"Feisty little fella, ain't ya?" said the man.

"Far from it, sir."

"You say you was chased by an angry mob of douchebags."

"We was," said Milford, "I mean, yes, we were."

"Must've done something to rile 'em up."

"Look," said Addison, "can we just go sit at the bar and have a beer?"

"You got money?" said the man.

"Yes," said Addison. "We got, I mean, we have money."

The big man took a drag on his cigar.

"You don't know where youse are, do yez?"

"Well, it seems to be a bar," said Addison.

"I guess you noticed that there weren't no name outside the bar, just that sign, just that sign about abandoning hope."

"Yes, in retrospect, I suppose I did notice that," said Addison.

"And you know why there weren't no sign with no name on it?"

"No," said Addison, "but I suspect you are going to tell us."

"There weren't no name on no sign because this bar ain't got no name."

"Well, I suppose that makes a sort of sense," said Addison. "And so now, if we could just step over to the bar –"

"And," said the man, "the reason this bar ain't got no name is because it is strictly a bar for the nameless ones of the universe, the losers, the eternal failures, the ones fated not to be remembered by no one, the faceless ones, the anonymous ones, the spear carriers, the supernumeraries in the great Cecil B. DeMille production of life."

"Um, okay," said Addison. "So, can we come in?"

"Keep your shirt on, pal," said the big man. "I'm asking the questions here."

"Sorry," said Addison.

"Am I to assume, since you say you was being chased by these alleged douchebags, that youse yourself are not douchebags."

"Um," said Addison.

"No, we are not douchebags," said Milford.

"You sure of that?" said the big man.

"I'm not sure of anything," said Milford.

"Good answer," said the man. "But let me ask yez this. You may not be douchebags, but are youse cunts."

"What?" said Addison.

"You heard me, pal. Don't make me say it again."

"You mean cunts?"

"That's the word, although it's not a word I like to use, and never in mixed company."

"No, sir, we are not cunts," said Addison. "Jesus."

"Leave Jesus out of this, buddy. Because in here we may be the losers of the world, the forgotten of the forgotten and the damned of the damned, but one thing we are not is cunts. So let's just get that one thing straight."

"Look," said Milford, "we're not cunts, okay?"

"But," said the big man, "you just told me a second ago you wasn't sure of anything, so how can you be sure you ain't a cunt?"

"Okay," said Milford. "Fine. Let's go, Addison."

"Wait a minute," said the big man.

"What?" said Milford.

"I like your style."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I don't know what it is, but I kinda like both you guys. Maybe you are cunts. Maybe on the other hand you're just douchebags. Or, maybe, just maybe, youse two are members of the great fraternity of the losers of the universe."

The big man paused, looking Addison and Milford over. He took another drag on his cigar, took it out of his mouth, exhaling an enormous cloud of smoke, then looked at its end and turned and tapped its ash into his ashtray. Milford, who constitutionally noticed very little in the physical world, noticed that the ashtray had printed on its side in flaked gold the legend THE ST CRISPIAN HOTEL WHERE THE SERVICE IS SWELL.

The big man sighed, and without looking at either Addison or Milford, he said, "All right. What the fuck. What do I know, anyway?"

"You mean," said Addison, "we can come in?"

The man turned and looked again at Addison and Milford.

"Yeah," he said. "Sure. Why not?"

"Oh, good," said Addison. "Thank you."

The man said nothing.

"So," said Addison, "I guess we'll just grab a couple of seats at the bar then."

"Sure," said the man. "Unless."

"Unless?" said Addison.

"Unless you want a table, or a booth."

"Oh," said Addison. "Well, actually, I think just two seats at the bar would be fine."

"Suit yourself. But if you want a table or a booth you could wait here and the waitress will come over and seat you."

"No, I think just the bar will be fine," said Addison.

"We serve the full food menu at the bar if you're hungry."

"Okay," said Addison. 

"I recommend the all-you-can-eat chicken wings."

"Okay, good," said Addison.

"The egg and onion sammitch ain't bad, on your choice of white bread or rye."

"We'll bear that in mind."

"They call me Gargantua."

"Hi, uh, Gargantua," said Addison. "They call me Addison, and this is Milford."

"Hi," said Gargantua.

"So, uh, we'll just be heading over to the bar then," said Addison.

"Not so fast," said Gargantua.

"Yes?"

"Don't make me look bad."

"Oh," said Addison. "Well, we'll try not to."

The man Gargantua pointed his cigar at Addison, and then at Milford.

"Losers, failures, faceless drones, these are all welcome here. Just no douchebags."

"Right," said Addison.

"No douchebags," said the big man. "And, especially –"

"Yes?" said Addison.

"No cunts," said Gargantua. 

"Oh," said Addison. "Right."

Gargantua pointed his cigar at Milford.

"You sure you ain't a cunt, sonny?"

"Uh," said Milford.

"I assure you, Gargantua," said Addison, "that neither I nor my friend Milford are cunts."

"Good," said Gargantua. "Keep it that way. And try the fried Spam-and-cheese sandwich on toast if you get hungry after a while."

"Thank you for the recommendations," said Addison.

Gargantua turned away, seeming to stare off into a distance only he could see.

Milford touched Addison's elbow, and the two friends walked over to the bar, which was crowded, but they found two adjoining barstools, and climbed up onto them.

{Please go here to read the unexpurgated "adult comix" version in A Flophouse Is Not a Home, profusely illustrated by the illustrious Rhoda Penmarq…}

"Let's Do It"

 

After some several minutes of walking in the darkness they saw another faint glow up ahead. They came to a corner and turned it, and way down another brick passageway they saw what looked like a stairway, the entrance illuminated by another hanging light bulb.

"We are saved," said Addison.

"That remains to be seen," said Milford.

Another minute brought them to the stairwell and to a narrow spiral staircase, unpainted, dirty, stained with rust, and festooned with cobwebs.

"After you, my friend," said Addison.

"Why me?" said Milford.

"There's only room for one at a time, and one of us must go first."

Milford bent forward, craned his neck and looked up. 

"I see a light up there," he said.

"Grand," said Addison. "Go right ahead and I shall be hard on your heels."

"I don't want to go first," said Milford.

"May I ask why?"

"Isn't that obvious? Because I'm a coward."

"It's only a staircase," said Addison. He put his hand on the iron rail and gave it a tug. "See? Quite sturdy."

"I saw it move a little bit," said Milford.

"But only a little."

"I'm afraid of heights."

"It can't be more than thirty feet high."

"I'm also afraid of the dark."

"So is everyone, but it's not completely dark. Light your lighter if you're afraid."

"But then I would only have one hand to put on the rail."

"Good God, man, it's only a plain ordinary spiral staircase, now go on."

"Why don't you go first?"

"I'm quite willing to go first," said Addison, "but someone has to bring up the rear."

"I think I would prefer to bring up the rear," said Milford.

"Well, I suppose we could do that," said Addison.

"Good," said Milford. "Please go right ahead, and I will be right behind you."

Now Addison bent forward, craned his neck and looked up.

"Well, okay," he said. "But you will be right behind me?"

"Yes," said Milford.

"You won't abandon me?"

"No," said Milford.

"Because I am your only friend, you know."

"Yes, I am all too well aware of that."

"Okay, by George, I'll do it. I'll go first."

"Good."

"But look," Addison turned to Milford, "if anything happens to me, will you please write my Aunt Edna and let her know. You'll find her name and address on an envelope in my breast pocket. It contains a check for five dollars which she sent me for Christmas, but I haven't gotten around to cashing it yet. Send her the check back and tell her that I wished to thank her."

"Okay," said Milford. 

"Her full name and address are on the return address on the envelope."

"Right."

"Tell her – tell her I was thinking of her. And that I appreciated all the checks she has sent me over the years, as well as those sent me by my Aunts Enid, and Edith, and Sarah, and Kate, her sisters."

"All right."

"I should not have survived this long without their help, their kind remittances on holidays and birthdays."

"Okay."

"You'll remember?"

"I'll remember," said Milford.

"Also, in my wallet you will find the ten dollars I have left from that twenty you lent me."

"It wasn't a loan, it was a gift."

"Well, anyway, please take the ten, in repayment."

"In repayment for what?"

"For being my friend. And for writing my Aunt Edna."

"Look, Addison, I appreciate the thought, but nothing is going to happen to you."

"But in case something does."

"Okay," said Milford.

"All right, I'm going now," said Addison.

He took one more drag on the butt of his Chesterfield, and dropped it to the dank brick floor. He sighed, deeply, and took the first step. 

Milford let Addison take three more steps, and then he threw his Husky Boy dog end to the bricks and mounted the first step, and then another, and another. It occurred to him that he had neglected to grind out the two cigarette butts with the sole of his brogan, but he let it go. It was too late to turn back now.

After all that, it was only a matter of a minute before they reached the landing above. The staircase continued upward, but Addison stepped out of the stairwell, and Milford soon followed him.

It was another dimly lit hallway.

"Which way?" said Addison.

"I see a vague light down there," said Milford, pointing to the right.

"I hope it's not that place full of douchebags again," said Addison.

"If it is, we'll just keep going," said Milford.

"All right," said Addison. 

They walked down the hall, turned a corner to the right, and about fifty feet farther along this hallway they saw another door, with another light over it. They continued on and when they got to the door they saw a hand-painted sign on it which read 

Abandon hope 

all ye 

who enter here

"Should we go in?" said Addison.

"Speaking only for myself," said Milford, "I abandoned all hope when I was three years old. So, yeah, let's go in." 

There was a handle on the door with a thumb catch, and Addison put his hand on the handle, pressed the catch and opened the door.

Inside was a bar, yet another shadowy bar, the murmur of voices, the haze and smell of smoke, the thick aromas of whiskey and beer, the playing of a forgotten song on a jukebox.

"Another bar," said Addison.

"I see that," said Milford.

"We'll just go in and ask directions."

"Okay."

"What could go wrong?"

"I think a more appropriate question," said Milford, "might be, 'What could go right?'"

"Ha ha. Again that bone dry Milford wit."

Milford said nothing. Despite himself, despite all he knew about himself, he had a strange desire for a tall glass of beer, any kind of beer, just so long as it wasn't disgustingly warm. Would it be so terrible just to have one glass of beer?

"Shall we?" said Addison.

"Yes," said Milford. He had already said "no" more than enough times for one lifetime. "Let's do it."

{Kindly go here to read the unexpurgated "adult comix" version in A Flophouse Is Not a Home, profusely illustrated by the illustrious Rhoda Penmarq...}