By Martin Anton Smith
The place was a writer’s dream – cheap & clean, & mostly empty of people.
But just enough to provide some potential material.
The room & overall building were perfect! – old quant but quality architecture.
These century plus old places have memories that whisper into your ear.
It was placed nicely up high & so had the city & ocean views.
Turns out I didn’t write squat while there – but I got ‘writing fuel’ – & that’s all that matters.
With these short trips you feel like a lord – that’s just one of the devil’s sneaky trick’s –
He takes away 90% of the year but gives you a luxurious mirage for the 10% balance.
I go to the nearest dive bar, which is a quality one – a hybrid, if you will.
The bartender is a suave fella tall & slender, wears black, looks like a punk rocker & has an English accent.
He’s way too good for the place, unless he agrees his place is to make it better – which he does.
I believe If he believes it, he’ll survive better.
So on the second night I decide to drink.
I drink the cheap beers, slung over the bar stool at the bar.
It’s quiet so I have plenty of chat time with old Bartender Bob.
There’s the normal patter, but I’ll stick with what’s good.
He tells me he’s been with a chick for 7 years, but it’s well on the slide.
There’s no rooting & no talking, they hardly see each other.
They’re living what is adroitly called “parallel lives” – a typical story.
So my ‘older man gives advice to the younger man’ eyes light up.
I know he’s a quality man so I tell him “if it’s turned sour don’t wait till you 40 to turf it”.
I think that’s fair – those years from 33 to 40 are prime & not to be wasted.
And If you’re gonna crash out in life those years will be the ones,
& if you’re a Bloke – it’s almost certain that a chick will be the catalyst.
Yeah – I Know what you ladies are screaming- “SEXIST PIG!!!”
But facts are facts – I’m just relaying what I’ve seen of others, & what’s been done to me.
And I’ve been around the blocks – I’m pushing 50.
The most important Life “Facts” come from a metaphorical Auschwitz AND they are true.
The fools that refuse to see it, eventually have their rose-tinted glasses shattered.
The rest of the night was of no interest.
I went back the next day for a few more beers.
I followed up on our conversation.
Bartender Bob had moved quickly.
He told me as soon as he woke up while half asleep he’d broken up with her.
I guess he listened to my wise sage like advice –
But in those situations, you feel a tinge of guilt.
The thought crosses your mind
“Did I just play a hand in totally fucking up this decent guy’s life”.
But I’m a wise man & thought about this yesterday, when I was giving advice –
I merely said that he should tell her “I want to go on a break”.
You see, that way it can be a reversable healthy thing that’s going on.
They can get back together if that’s the right thing to do,
or not, if that’s the right thing to do.
And if she holds a massive grudge & hates him for it?
Well then she’s a total bitch & the decision was proved right beyond doubt.
I rest my case your honour!
I take no responsibility for any shit that now blows up in Bob’s chisled punk-rocker face.
I only hope he doesn’t think he ‘loves her’ – then he’s in for a ride from hell regardless.
God Speed, Barman Bob.
The rest of the six day trip was pretty boring,
Other than a bloody great second hand bookstore,
Full of pre-loved books,
That still have a lot to offer a new person with fresh eyes,
Even though they are battered, musty, stained & worn.
There’s a lesson in that for us all (incl. Bob).
Anton Martin Smith Writer 