Well, everybody was gung-ho on this advice. Even Art the Heartless gave out a nod. As my main man Myles put it, “’Tis fine with me,” a thought that got quickly seconded by moi and was then passed with nary a sniff of objection.
Then came the dicey bit, which was performed by Ab and Orville the Fourth and got nitpicked by the rest of us, including two of the hired help, who keep their ears to the ground to pick up vibes from the less fortunate, those who wander in for a cold one or two—or usually more—and then stagger out when Gordo closes up shop for the night after calling an occasional cab for the good of those whose staggers bode ill for the wellbeing of the average citizen out for a night drive; or walk. Maybe I should add that Gordo also calls those cabs for the good of the owner of the bar, and again I speak of moi, who can get her ass sued for contributing to the cause of any accidents and/or dismemberments or deaths on the public thoroughfares. This according to the laws of Small Southwestern City and my lawyer, Leticia, who reads ’em and gives me fair warning.
Ohmigod, wasn’t that some paragraph! I guess I should put more ink to paper after whooping it up with a coupla tall ones.