Oregon Tavern Age: Moments

“I don’t have a dog, but I’m thinking about stealing one off a chain,” said the OTA man at the bar, to an elderly, non-OTA couple sipping gin and tonics.

His OTA wife came over and and kissed him. Tongues were deeply exchanged. I’d never seen an OTA couple french kiss in OTA country before. Perhaps it should have unnerved me, but it didn’t. I took great comfort in that swap. There is hope in that swap.

The man was on his third double bloody mary and wobbled a bit, but a democratic (small d) America wobbles a lot more these days. My nation will collapse long, long before an OTA man drunk on bloody marys falls over.

The lights flickered. I looked around. A woman played pool with her tattooed boyfriend who drank a tall lemonade. She always wears the same skimpy outfit in here. Lots of black and red flowers.

So what? I always wear the same corduroy pants and fort sweater. I get it. Every day my outfit unravels a tiny bit more. Luckily, that isn’t a metaphor for my metaphysical self.

I was writing a letter. I was thinking about the last two years of my life. I was wondering about my future and its planless plan. I was thinking about the new people I might meet and the new stories I might encounter.

Serena Williams came on the television. I hope she plays professionally into her 40s. She’s one of my favorite Americans of all time. I would have loved to see her crush McEnroe in a Riggs/King rematch.

One wonders: will anyone play tennis after this nation’s collapse? It might be a moot point considering how many of the public courts have gone to seed or been redeveloped into skate parks or danger-free playgrounds.

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