Scene:
Pancho
The room is dark, dingy and muggy. There’s a slight breeze circulating from above, it must be coming from the industrial ceiling fan. Behind Francisco, a faint red light peeks though the vast array of bottles in line, ready for consumption. Bo Diddley’s, “Pretty Thing” plays from the jukebox in the back. Francisco, the bartender is wearing the same old, light blue Guayabera button up shirt. He likes to be called “Pancho” for short. Pancho pulls the wash cloth from his shoulder and begins wiping the bar top. He peers, unimpressed towards Lee who is sitting on the other side of Pancho. Pancho leans in…
Pancho: “So, what’ll it be”?
Lee: “Ah, get me a shot of your cheapest whiskey and a Sprite-back”.
Pancho: “Right up”.
Pancho turns around, grabs the glass from the bottom shelf and places it on the counter. Lee begins to study Pancho’s demeanor. He seems tired and withdrawn. A look as though he’s been doing this job for 50+ years and wants to be somewhere else. Perhaps he just lost his long time love, his wife; or perhaps he’d rather be at home smoking a cigar or with his grand children…
Pancho, scoops the ice into the glass and he reaches for the Kessler. A cheap, harsh whiskey – perfect for Lee. Pancho slides the drink to Lee. Lee contently accepts the drink.
Lee: “Thanks, how much”?
Pancho: Taps his knuckles on the counter. “Ah, tree fifteh”.
Lee: Hands Pancho a $5 bill. “Salud”. Lee raises his drink.
Pancho: “Salud”.
Lee: “So, do you own the place”?
Pancho: “Yes, I’ve owned this place since 1944. I bought it from an old Irishman. He was broke, I had a few bucks”.
Lee: “Cool, I’ve always wanted to own a bar.”
Pancho: “Eh, me too. Until I actually got one. Looks can be fuckin’ deceiving. Especially around this neighborhood”.
Lee: “Yeah, it looks like you get a lot of hood rats and bums strolling around here”.
Pancho: “They love the happy hour. Happy for them. Shitty for me. It takes tree fuckin’ hours to get rid of their fuckin; stench!! Tree fuckin HOURS”!!
Pancho: “Why the hell do you think I have these industrial fans up there”?
Lee: “Ha-ha!, fuckin’ bums”.
In walks a homeless man. He’s known around the bar. He goes by “Bob Dylan Bob”.
Bob Dylan Bob: “Hiya Panchy, wass cookin’ ‘ole man”?
Pancho (with a grin), shaking is head: “Crown Royal, comin’ up, ya stinky bastard”!
Scene-
||Jesse Gonzalez||