Thursdays In The Valley – Part 22



“Over there, my girl. I knew she’d show. She loves this shit.”

I see her, propped against the wall, she appears a bit unsteady . . .

“I thought she was my girl?”

“Oh shit brother, you know what I mean. Your girl, my girl, it’s all the same once she starts dancing.”

“So go put some money in that fucking juke box, give her something to dance to.”

“Damn, you got any dolla’ bills?”

“No Man, you go pick some songs, I’ll play some in a little bit.”

“I don’t have any singles, I need some change.”

“So go ask the bartender, he’ll give you change.”

“Oh fuck that, I’ll just bite the bullet and put in a five’r. Fuck it.”

“Play something good, huh?”

“I will, I will.”


Five minutes later . . .

“I thought I asked you to play something good?”

“You don’t like this?’

“Not really, I’m not into this shit.”

“Hold on a sec, hold on a second . . . maybe you don’t like it, but your girl sure does. Holy shit, look at that . . .”

“Dude, isn’t that fucking Iron Maiden?”

“Damn right, tribute to Pedro my friend. Look at her . . . she’s really diggin’ this shit.”

“Iron Maiden?”

“I know, I know, damnedest thing. Who would have thought?”

“She is really good, huh?”

“Yup, everybody loves her.”

“So I’ve heard.”


After only nine Iron Maiden songs in a row . . .

“Let me get a shot.”

“Oh no, I remember last time you were doing shots, not happening tonight my friend.”

“Fuck that, let me get a shot.”

“Forget it.”

“Just one shot, come on.”


“I’ll give you five bucks, plus the price of the shot.”

“That’s what you said the last time.”

And . . .”

“And you got all crazy and shit. I don’t need it in here. Not tonight. Come to think of it, not any night. Fuck that.”

“Ten bucks. Plus the price of the shot. Come on . . . come on . . .”

“Alright asshole, I’ll give you one more chance. You fuck up tonight, and that’s it. No more.”

“I’ll be good, I promise.”

“So what d’ya want?”

“What’s the nastiest cheapest whiskey you got back there?”

“Oh shit, that’s hard to say . . . let’s see . . . how about this Canadian shit?”

“What is it?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well yeah, I want to at least know the name of it.”

“Northern Light. It’s been in here a while, nobody ever drinks it. I’ve never even had it. Must be pretty bad, but fuck, it’s whiskey. Here you go.”

And as far as the bar goes, that’s the last thing I remember . . .

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