“Careful, there’s maybe life in this place yet.”
I check the clock on my old phone; you can still make out the time despite the crack on the screen. 11:58. Near noon. Bam time.
“Another drink, please, pal,” I motion to Frank.
He brings me one over, and I slide him a couple of coins.
“You expecting Bam today?”
“I’m always expecting Bam.”
I take a sip of my drink; there is a moment’s silence, and the door opens. A chink of daylight, then the full effect with Bam standing in the door. Shadow cast across the bar.
“Alright boys?” She smiles.
I blink and squint out to the door.
“You’re fucking late,” says Frank.
“Aye alright, I’m here now, eh?”
The door closes, and she walks across the floor and around the back of the bar. Black hair cropped, black jeans, not a classic beauty, but beautiful nonetheless. Five foot five of dynamite.
And she knows it.
“Al, fancy seeing you here,” she laughs and smiles as she walks by. “Christ, it’s like a fucking funeral in here. Put some fucking songs on.” she announces.
She’s behind the bar and suddenly Angel of Harlem starts blasting from the speakers.
“Fuck’s sake,” she moans. “Old guy music.”
There’s a brief pause, and suddenly Taylor Swift is blasting out. She’s making some moves and pulling some shapes before Frank appears behind her, and they have a little sidestep tango before he leans over and turns the music down.
She gives him a grumpy look.
“Okay, let’s compromise,” and she puts on some Rocket from the Crypt.
“On a rope, on a rope…”
I smile. “That’s some music I can drink to.”
Bam’s laughing and turns to Frank. “Careful, there’s maybe life in this place yet.”
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
Paul Andrew Sneddon 