George Pelecanos - Firing offence

I took the beer out to the screened-in deck and drank it while I watched the h ard rain dimple the wetlands as it blew across the sound. The beer was cold but warmed me going down, and I ordered another when I picked up my burger.

I ate the burger and drank the beer out on the deck. When I was finished, the first, beautiful verse of “Me and Bobby McGee” came from the juke, and the men inside began to sing. I listened as their drunken voices welled up on the achingly true chorus. When I went to the counter for another beer, one of them waved me over and I joined them.

I bought what was the first of many rounds. The water was coming in now all around the bar, and someone had turned up the jukebox to its maximum volume. One of the men produced a fifth of whiskey and some glasses, and we started in on that.

The corners of the room bled into the walls. There was laughter and it was warm and I was away from my world, and everything was cleaner and more clear.

With time came darkness, and the rain continued to fall outside and into the barroom. My friends told jokes and sang, then joined me in a toast, to a Greek immigrant everyone had called Big Nick. For a moment I wondered what he would think, seeing me now, so twisted and so far from home; that moment burned away with my next taste of whiskey, stronger than reason, stronger than love.