The Shining

one. White man’s burden, Lloyd my man.”
Lloyd turned to do the job. Jack reached into his pocket for his money clip and came out with an Excedrin bottle instead. His money clip was on the bedroom bureau, and of course his skinny-shanks wife had locked him out of the bedroom. Nice going, Wendy. You bleeding bitch.
“I seem to be momentarily light,” Jack said. “How’s my credit in this joint, anyhow?”
Lloyd said his credit was fine.
“That’s super. I like you, Lloyd. You were always the best of them. Best damned barkeep between Barre and Portland, Maine. Portland, Oregon, for that matter.”
Lloyd thanked him for saying so.
Jack thumped the cap from his Excedrin bottle, shook two tablets out, and flipped them into his mouth. The familiar acid-compelling taste flooded in.
He had a sudden sensation that people were watching him, curiously and with some contempt. The booths behind him were full-there were graying, distinguished men and beautiful young girls, all of them in costume, watching this sad exercise in the dramatic arts with cold amusement.
Jack whirled on his stool.
The booths were all empty, stretching away from the lounge door to the left and right, the line on his left cornering to flank the bar’s horseshoe curve down the short length of the room. Padded leather seats and backs. Gleaming dark Formica tables, an ashtray on each one, a book of matches in each ashtray, the words Colorado Lounge stamped on each in gold leaf above the batwing-door logo.
He turned back, swallowing the rest of the dissolving Excedrin with a grimace.
“Lloyd, you’re a wonder,” he said. “Set up already. Your speed is only exceeded by the soulful beauty of your Neapolitan eyes. Salud.”
Jack contemplated the twenty imaginary drinks, the martini glasses blushing droplets of condensation, each with a swizzle poked through a plump green olive. He could almost smell gin on the air.
“The wagon,” he said. “Have you ever been acquainted with a gentleman who has hopped up on the wagon?”
Lloyd allowed as how he had met such men from time to time.
“Have you ever renewed acquaintances with such a man after he hopped back off? “
Lloyd could not, in all honesty, recall.
“You never did, then,” Jack said. He curled his hand around the first drink, carried his fist to his mouth, which was open, and turned his fist up. He swallowed and then tossed the imaginary glass over his shoulder. The people were back again, fresh from their costume ball, studying him, laughing behind their hands. He could feel them. If the backbar had featured a mirror instead of those damn stupid empty shelves, he could have seen them. Let them stare. Fuck them. Let anybody stare who wanted to stare.
“No, you never did,” he told Lloyd. “Few men ever return from the fabled Wagon, but those who do come with a fearful tale to tell. When you jump on, it seems like the brightest, cleanest Wagon you ever saw, with ten-foot wheels to keep the bed of it high out of the gutter where all the drunks are laying around with their brown bags and their Thunderbird and their Granddad Flash’s Popskull Bourbon. You’re away from all the people who throw you nasty looks and tell you to clean up your act or go put it on in another town. From the gutter, that’s the finest-lookin Wagon you ever saw, Lloyd my boy. All hung with bunting and a brass band in front and three majorettes to each side, twirling their batons and flashing their panties at you. Man, you got to get on that Wagon and away from the juicers that are straining canned heat and smelling their own puke to get high again and poking along the gutter for butts with half an inch left below the filter.”
He drained two more imaginary drinks and tossed the glasses back over his shoulder. He could almost hear them smashing on the floor. And goddam if he wasn’t starting to feel high. It was the Excedrin.
“So you climb up,” he told Lloyd. “and ain’t you glad to be there. My God yes, that’s affirmative. That Wagon is the biggest and best float in the whole parade, and everybody is lining the streets and clapping and cheering and waving, all for you. Except for the winos passed out in the gutter. Those guys used to be your friends, but that’s all behind you now.”
He carried his empty fist to his mouth and sluiced down another-four down, sixteen to go. Making excellent progress. He swayed a little on the stool. Let em stare, if that was how they got off. Take a picture, folks, it’ll last longer.
“Then you start to see things, Lloydy-my-boy. Things you missed from the gutter. Like how the floor of the Wagon is nothing but straight pine boards, so fresh they’re still bleeding sap, and if you took your shoes off you’d be sure to get a splinter. Like how the only furniture