LOU RASMUS

Sitting at the far end of the bar, I decide to wait for the song to end before I finish my beer. The song playing on the stereo. I tell myself to wait until the song ends so that I can pace myself a little bit. I’ve had three pints in the last half hour. Not too much, but I think that I should slow down. I should at least wait until the song is over. The guitarist rips into a guitar solo. It’s a deep one, with his fingers moving up and down the entire neck of the thing. I recognize the rhythm of his strums. Not the song. I’ve never heard the song before. But I recognize his tone and his emotion. It’s trite stuff. Pathetically unoriginal. But it’s ok. I’m not great musician myself. I can’t say shit. I just want the damn song to end so that I can finish my beer. I’m ready for a fresh one. But the fucking guy just keeps at it. And keeps at it. And keeps at it. And I just keep looking longingly at the golden lager sitting in the bottom of my class, like it’s going to disappear if I don’t drink it soon. It’s just one swig, really. One little sip and then I can order another. But I told myself that I would wait, so I’m going to wait. I’ve been drinking too fast. I always drink too fast. I’ll wait. And then the guitarist moves up an octave and swings into the next part of the solo. Only the next part. Who knows how many parts are left? So I finish my drink and order another. Fuck it. I told myself that I wouldn’t get drunk here again tonight, but I also told myself that I wasn’t going to write about drinking anymore. Things happen.