Breaking Up With A Bar

It’s not you. It’s me. Really.

There’s a local bar that I’ve loved for the last couple of years that had everything. Cheap drinks. Darts. Keno. Shady characters. It was my place, but now I have to do something I’m not looking forward to: I’m break

ing up with it.

Every Monday night for the last two “seasons”, I would show up there with my darts in hand ready for some friendly competition. Though I’m not the greatest dart player in the world, I’d look forward to my weekly league game. Sometimes I’d win, sometimes I’d lose, but either way I had fun.

Well, that fun is over because as much as I love playing darts and keno, it’s not worth getting shot.

See, last week I stopped in for a quick one and a couple of games of Keno. The lady friend was sleeping after working all night, so I needed to get out of the apartment, as I’m loud and annoying when someone is trying to sleep. As I was watching the Keno TV, I noticed an older gentleman staring at me. The guy was one-eye-shut hammered, so I didn’t think anything of it. I noticed at one point that he was looking at me while on his cell phone, and he was saying something loudly. Finally I looked at him, and he asked “What bar am I at?” loudly. I used my inside voice to tell him where he was, but that didn’t work. I had to actually get up and walk over to him to communicate with him. He didn’t thank me or anything, instead he just told the person on the other line where he was. I thought nothing of it.

After a few minutes,

I walked by him, and he stopped me. “Billy?” he asked. I said no, as I’m not Billy. He refused to believe me. Finally I convinced him that I was not Billy. That’s when I found out that Billy had “10 dimes on his head”, and that he was calling his friend to come “take me out.” Apparently Billy is very much a wanted man, and if any of the drunk’s associates find Billy, he’s getting a bullet in his head.

Someone else at the bar told me that I resembled Billy a bit.

The night ended with the drunk crossing the street and meeting his friend, telling him that, unfortunately, he’d made a false identification. His friend didn’t believe him and wanted proof. That’s when I went back inside, as the odds of not being shot inside a bar are likely better than they would be if I were outside.

Well, I guess it’s time to find a new bar with darts. I’ll miss you, bar that will go nameless here. We had some good times.