A Bird In Flight

 

"Just watch this asshole." Theresa said, walking away from the bar, looking angrily. We were at Cowboys, a country bar, and the year was 1999. I looked across the crowded bar, and I could make out an elderly man wearing a cowboy hat sit awkwardly near the bar.

He was trying, but failing, to attract young women's attention. He looked like he was 70 years old.

Vern.

Theresa and I used to chat with him often. But he turned out to be a really creepy man. We decided it wasn't our best option to hang out with him. He was so enthusiastic about having people over to party with him. But we never bothered. He was gross.

The menacing hatred of some bar patrons put out was awful. Which is usually why we stood away from the crowded shot bar.

Years later, in Nova Scotia, Theresa and I would be hanging out at a country bar in Dartmouth. Oh boy, that put Cowboys to shame in all ways. 

The people that came into that bar - most were fine. But there was some bunches of people who never knew what manners were about. Grabbing women, shouting, and yes, getting into fights were common.

I really hated going there.

The bar's since long closed. It used to be in the industrial area of Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. A real rough crowd used to hang out there every weekend. Oh boy, what a racket it was.

They had this mechanical bull riding machine. I tried it once and almost wrenched my hand off.

Unbelievable.

But those days are long gone.

Peace