The Bar is Sinking

Miserable Bastards (Part 3)

You can read part one here: https://paulandrewsneddon.com/2025/07/12/wake-up-juice/

And Part Two here: https://paulandrewsneddon.com/2025/07/23/the-price-of-books/

The bar is dark; neon lights flicker. Someone leaves, and a shaft of late summer natural light breaks in.

Ugh, someone shut that door. 

I take a sip of my drink, house whisky, some kind of liquid. Fuck knows what this is. I’ve worked my way down from the Macallan 21 uptown to the no-label gold-speckled whatever the fuck this is.
    
If ever there was a bar that seemed like it had given up, this is it. I’ve heard people talk about dive bars, but this is more like a died bar. Somehow it suits me. Like a ghost in the neon, the jukebox plays classics from 1992. 
    
    
Christ.
    
    
Frank's looking over at me. The old bastard, if the bar looks rough, then he somehow looks like the ultimate survivor, carved from the rock, the handsome bastard.
    
    
"Another?" he asks.
    
    
"Yeah, pal, keep them coming."
    
    
He pours me another whisky and slides this over to me. He picks up his glass. “Cheers, Al.”
    
    
We clink glasses, and I take a sip.
    
    
He looks like he’s got something to say.
    
    
“Listen, man, what do you think? I’ve got a guy coming over this afternoon, going to look at upgrading this place a little bit. New bar, new fittings, gold like one of those West End bathrooms.”
    
    
I start laughing.
    
    
“Sounds fucking horrific, man.”
    
    
He smiles.
    
    
I look around at the torn seats, the bar, the wet patches, and dust on the walls. He’s got a picture of a beautiful woman sitting on a beach on the wall. Her body looks like it was sculpted by the gods; her beauty is undeniable.
    
    
“Mind you, it might be nice to get some actual women in here, instead of just a picture.” I laugh.
    
    
“The ladies love the picture.” he replies.
    
    
“Sure, they do.”
    
    
“Well, I don’t know if they come here for the men to be fair. Have you seen the state of you and old Pat?” he nods to Patty at the end of the bar.
    
    
“Fuck off, I’m in prime physical condition,” I laugh as I pat my belly.
    
    
“Careful mate, you’re going from Buddha to barrel.”
    
    
“Ha, I do alright.”
    
    
“Sure you do. Listen, check this out.” He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a picture. It’s a Triumph motorcycle.
    
    
The picture looks a bit frayed like it’s been in a jacket pocket for a while.
    
    
“Going to look at this later today. Wee guy is selling it down Partick way. What do you think?” He raises an eyebrow.
    
    
“A Triumph? Fuck man, it’s been a while. You still got the Steve McQueen’s?”
    
    
He laughs.
    
    
“You can’t beat it, man’ he laughs.
    
    
"What about your gold fittings?"
    
    
"Ah fuck man, this place is like the Titanic." he looks glumly round the place.

(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon