concoction

...Winston reds...."no additives" as if other cigarettes just had tons of extra stuff in them. On a cheap night some Pabst to accompany the Winston's. On payday or someone's birthday or when Biff was in a good mood, it was good scotch or wine or microbrew...maybe some Davidoff's, or Nat Sherman's, or a good stick like a Padron, or a Casa Magna, or a Fuente short story, or The Griffins.  Sometimes a Peterson and some Dark Horse, or a Nording and some Haddo's, or a Bjarne with some Autumn Bairn (English Oriental Supreme)...Either way there was almost always booze, and definitely tobacco.  It was our livelihood so we indulged. Heavily.

     Orlo was feelin' good one night so we picked up some Mead from a wine store on the way to Paris. It was the only place left to smoke in Denver really other than Bar Bar, but that was a different scene entirely.  So that night it was Mead, my first taste of Mead; and it really warmed the body in a good way, and I felt happy for the rest of the walk, and for a moment I felt good about what I was doing. 

      We got the usual carafe and sat down for Friday night chess. Couldn't tell you which pipes we had on us or the tobacco choice that night, but it was good.  I know because it was always good.

     It was my move.  I know because it was always my move.  I'm bad at chess but Orlo didn't seem to mind. He just had to keep me on task a lot.

                                       "You're move....Davis.....Move!"

I didn't really mind either. 



     The walk home always kinda sucked because the night was over and I never wanted it to be.  Whatever we had imbibed had worn off.  The smoke and coffee had given me heartburn. It was cold and usually wet.  But occasionally a little more something to smoke and we'd hit up the late night hotdog stand on the far side of the pedestrian mall. It gave me just enough energy to get home. 

     Bed.  After those Fridays I slept like people should sleep. Well. 

     The next morning, rested and clear headed, I'd wake up the right way, naturally and without an alarm set. Heat up the frying pan, do a few maintenance pushups, fry up an egg with some bacon, devour it, a few more pushups, then shower, then work.

     I'd walk in feeling good about the previous 24 hours and wonder what that Saturday held.  Orlo was in a different mood entirely because he had a family to feed and a store to run.  When Biff wasn't there he left it all in Orlo's lap.  He did that because he knew he could handle it, but it looked stressful.  Cory Benjamin was there, with his prayer beads I'm sure, sweating a lot and guzzling water from that hideous orange bottle he'd had for what looked like a decade or two. And then the regulars. Saturday's were different because we didn't have the downtown business guys.  Instead we got Travelers and the weekend regulars.  Never knew who was going to walk in. A Bronco, a politician, a dumb stoner wonderin why we didn't sell blunt wraps...it was always a crap shoot. But it was fun.  Saturday's usually more so.

..............