LOU RASMUS

Mary was shooting pool. Probably not making any shots. She doesn’t make a lot. But she was shooting pool anyway, because she likes to play when she’s having a drink. Usually a vodka press with shitty vodka.

So Mary was shooting pool and I was sitting at the bar, watching her, and we were enjoying ourselves. She made a shot and ran over to me and gave me a kiss, even though she always says that she doesn’t believe in showing affection in front of people. She says that she’s anti-PDA, but she says a lot of things.

So there we were, Mary and I, going back and forth between kissing and sometimes shooting pool, when a fight started. Some kid reached over the bar to grab his own beer out of the cooler, and the bartender lost her mind:

“I WOULDN’T COME INTO YOUR HOUSE AND TAKE WHATEVER I WANTED OUT OF YOUR FRIDGE.”

“Oh relax, Lisa…”

“NO, DON’T TELL ME TO RELAX!”

“Listen, Lisa” – this was another patron now – “he gets it, he shouldn’t have reached over the bar. He’s sor…”

“HE DIDN’T SAY HE WAS SORRY!” Lisa shouted.

“Whatever,” the kid said. Cocky bastard. “I’m sorry.”

But Lisa didn’t buy that. She knew that he wasn’t sorry. And so she kicked him out. “GET OUTTA MY BAR!”

Only he didn’t leave.

“GET OUT!” She screamed again. “I DON’T NEED YOU HERE!” And she dumped his beer down the sink.

“FUCK YOU!” The kid yelled.

“FUCK YOU TOO!” Lisa snapped back. Then she drew a pistol out from under the bar. “NOW GET OUTTA HERE!”

The kid threw his hands up in surrender. He backed away. He didn’t seem too cocky anymore and I think he might have actually been kind of scared. Maybe just angry. Maybe scared. Either way, he walked out. Lisa won. And then Mary and I went back to shooting pool.