When we arrived, I learned that home wasn’t home. Home was a shabby looking little spot I didn’t know existed even though I had lived in the same city my whole life. It was by all standards a shit hole. I loved it. As a beaten jukebox spitted out the three overdriven chords from “I wanna be your dog” and the murky fog from literally everyone smoking inside invaded my nose, a sense of profound hopefulness came over me; a new world was opening before my starry eyes.

​

We headed straight to the bar, where four glasses of whiskey were already aligned on top of the impeccably shiny mahogany countertop waiting for us. “I was getting worried,” said the bartender, holding a smile in various shades of ochre. He was heavy and robust, sturdy, like you’d need a machine to move him. His hands made mine look like toy’s hands.

​

He fist bumped each of us; it felt like fistbumping a mallet.

 

Tommy whispered something in his ear. They both reached in their pockets, and then did one of those transaction handshakes you see in movies.

​

We moved just by the bar and stood in a circle that was also a square.

 

“So, are you really a band manager?” asked Kate.

​

“Well, not really, but…”

​

“Wait,” Tommy interrupted. “Let’s go to the restroom real quick.” No one objected.

 

I was a complete drug virgin -and still am, at least in spirit- which felt a bit embarrassing at the time.

​

The restroom only had one toilet, but the average group size of attendees was approximately three or more. The four of us entered. Tommy produced a tiny bag of white powder from his pocket and, with the use of a key, scooped portions of it and carefully placed them close to the other guys’ nostrils. Quick sniff, powder disappears, and that was it. It didn’t look hard, but when my turn came, I chickened out. Nose stuff seemed too invasive. “I’ll pass today,” I said. I felt like such a phony -because I was being phony- but what choice did I have? I wasn’t going to reveal my true self and risk getting fired. It was a missed opportunity to try a new experience, but I didn’t really care. I didn’t want the effect, I wanted the cinematography of it. Four guys in a bathroom stall doing coke, how cool was that?

​

We got out and exchanged friendly nods with the group that went in. I glanced at the fellow patrons and realized that, when it comes to bar crowds, there’s a very fine line between “rowdy cool” and “sad as fuck.” I promised myself that I was to remain on one side of the line, which one could sum up as don’t trip, don’t babble. I can’t say I always succeeded, but I certainly tried.

​

We got a hold of a pool table and for the first time in the night, a window for proper conversation opened up. “So, guys, tell me a little about the band… where are you right now, what do you need from me, etcetera.” Kate and Tommy looked at Bones as if the question fell under his jurisdiction.

 

“Here’s the thing,” he said. He bit the nail of his thumb as if to gain a few seconds to put his thoughts in order. “It’s hard to put into words but, we have these gigs here and there and… it’s cool, but, we need to play more, and record shit, and y’know, like, get to the next level.”

 

While Bones was trying to articulate his ideas and the other two nodded along, I reached the ridiculous conclusion that I’m exactly the guy you need.

 

In a matter of seconds my brain concocted the most outlandish roadmap to success, grounded -if I may be so bold as to use this word- in the fact that I knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy, but it did it in such a convincing way that I honestly thought we’d be playing Glastonbury in no time.

 

I wanted to share my plan but the window for proper conversation was short lived due to the irruption of a long lived man. A tripping and babbling one too, not unlike many others in the bar’s population. “I used to have hair like yours” was his opening line, which is the equivalent of me pulling a coin out of a ten year old’s ear.

 

“Oh, yeah?” I said, in the least inviting tone I can produce. He interpreted this as “please, tell me the story of your life, spare no detail.”

 

He grabbed my arm and pulled me close enough that I could identify the brand of whiskey he was drinking in his breath. “When I was your age…”

 

Bon Jovi’s Living on a Prayer was playing in the background and the old man interrupted his speech to say “Wooaoh, living on a prayer” every time the song said it (to be fair, it’s almost impossible not to).

 

Tommy was laughing so hard that he couldn’t light his cigarette. Kate called me with her hand. “Your turn,” she said, even though it wasn’t. We winked at each other and she handed me her stick.

 

As soon as I released myself from the old man’s hand Tommy hugged him with the arm that was holding a beer. He let his arm hang there and his head lean against the man’s head. He clinked his bottle with the man’s whisky glass with a flip of the wrist and took a sip, causing his forearm to touch the bottom of the man’s nose. He wiped that area with the man’s shirt. “Talk to me, old man,” he said. I didn’t know if he was mocking him or not; Tommy was hard to read. Even if he was, it was a victimless crime, because the man started yapping right away. “When I was your age…”

 

I switched my attention back to the pool table. Kate looked at me, while Bones found Tommy’s show more interesting.

 

I had an easy shot, unmissable. I grabbed the stick from the right place, bent my knees, closed one eye, aimed, and missed. Kate laughed out loud. I smacked my lips and turned my head towards her without moving the rest of my body. “You’re fired,” I said.

 

“Doesn’t it work the other way?” she said.

​

“I think it works both ways,” I said.

 

“Let’s go put music,” she said. “We’re terrible at this anyways.” She put the stick in Bones’ hand and told him we’d be right back.

 

She put a coin in the jukebox and said “you go first.” I played it safe but not cliche. “Lounge act,” she said. “Good choice; such an underrated song.”

 

“Did I pass the jukebox test?” I asked.

​

“I mean… I do have a Nirvana shirt on.” she said. “You passed the jukebox test but not the asslicker test.”

 

“So, what were you going to say back there?” she asked while going through the albums in the machine.

 

“Oh, yeah. Well, I’m not making any promises but I’m pretty sure I’ll have you playing Glastonbury in no time.”

 

“I hope you’re right,” she said. She picked a song and we went back to our pool table, but the only thing we found there was the old man playing by himself. He wasn’t so much playing as making the white ball bounce on the rails. I could read “Wooaoh living on a prayer” in his lips.

​

Kate knew they’d be in the restroom again so that’s where we went. We knocked on the door and Kate shouted “It’s me.” Tommy opened the door and a crowd of similar aged, skinny jeaned and particularly haired people came out. “We’re going to Red’s,” Tommy said. Kate's expression indicated this was good news.

 

Before exiting, we walked in line to the bar area, where the bartender had his arm extended with the palm of the hand in a petrified hi-five position. One by one, we hi-fived him. Tommy swung his arm back to gain momentum and slapped as hard as he could but the bartender’s hand didn’t move a millimeter. “Eat your soup kid,” he said, and rubbed Tommy’s carefully disheveled bleached hair.