The Lucky Star

I sat at the bar in the tiny lounge of a Chinese joint in Coos Bay called The Lucky Star. The main dining room was packed on a Friday afternoon. This little take-out lunch was a present to myself for doing absolutely nothing of consequence this day—so far.

A cook prepared my vegetable chow mein and shrimp rolls order. As I waited, I sipped a well gin and tonic and wrote in my notebook. Behind me, two men played the slot machines and kept losing.

No music played. The TV screen was blank.

I examined the liquor selection. The usual suspects. Who drinks Black Velvet or Canadian Club anymore? I checked the drink menu displayed on the bar: $11.75 for a Long Island ice tea. Who drinks those anymore?

Sometimes I ask myself: what the fuck am I doing in Coos Bay? The answer is germinating, I think.

I returned to the memory of my last visit to The Lucky Star. A female bartender a few years younger than me thought I was one of the stars of True Blood, some HBO show about vampires that came out…when? I’d never watched a single episode and didn’t recognize the name of the actor. I told her she was mistaken. She looked up the actor on her phone and showed me his picture. Sure enough, there was a striking resemblance.

The bartender was certainly giving me the heat. She was practically lassoing me out to her sedan for a three-minute assignation disguised as a smoke break!

Well, it didn’t happen. But it might if I ever saw her again.

My order arrived. I finished my drink and left. Elmer and I would hit the beach for the third time this day. He’d run mad, then start attacking me, we’d mix it up in full view of all the people vaping weed in their vehicles, staring out to the bay. They would see this man-dog spectacle and think were nuts.

Later, I would crack open the fortune cookie and perhaps the secret to my future in Coos Bay would be revealed.