As I was falling asleep last night, I could hear faint piano music over the sound of the street, coming from somewhere in the building. I lay there half awake and half dreaming about where the sound was coming from. Instead of living above a Starbucks and a Chinese herbal medicine store, in my mind I lived above a small, smoky bar in a city far bigger than my own.
The bar wasn't frequented by many, the new generation preferring bigger, louder and brighter places with clean bathroom surfaces from which to snort their lines from. This place was dark, grimy. The piano player; an old man who'd played there every night for 30 years, and every few weeks a new, nubile soul singer trying to make her way in the big city. Your choice of Jack or Jameson, or whatever beer was cheapest that week on tap. No cocktails or flavour infused vodka. Just the stuff you could kill yourself with if you tried.
At it's bar sat failed writers, musicians, bankers, lawyers. Not at the same time, mind you - there seemed to be an unspoken understanding that this place wasn't about socializing. There never appeared to be more than three patrons in the bar at a time - not that there would be room for many more anyhow. This was a place of true misery. It had seen many a failed marriage, big Wall Street deals gone wrong, contracts broken and jobs lost. In a bathroom stall, long, ragged strips of paint scratched out of the wall, a suicide attempt gone wrong.
The owner was a middle aged man who tended the bar night after night, saw the desperation and sadness of his clients yet still had a smile in his eyes. When asked why he would keep such a bastion of misery open, and how could he, for surely he could not be making enough to pay the rent? He would simply nod to the old man at the piano and say
"That there is my father. 30 years ago this bar belonged to him and my mother. Every night she would get on stage and sing while my father played the piano. Over the years this place has become miseries companion, but not to my father. I struggle to pay the rent every month, but not once have I considered closing this place down because since my mother passed away, this bar, these people and that piano, are the only things that keep him alive."
The bar wasn't frequented by many, the new generation preferring bigger, louder and brighter places with clean bathroom surfaces from which to snort their lines from. This place was dark, grimy. The piano player; an old man who'd played there every night for 30 years, and every few weeks a new, nubile soul singer trying to make her way in the big city. Your choice of Jack or Jameson, or whatever beer was cheapest that week on tap. No cocktails or flavour infused vodka. Just the stuff you could kill yourself with if you tried.
At it's bar sat failed writers, musicians, bankers, lawyers. Not at the same time, mind you - there seemed to be an unspoken understanding that this place wasn't about socializing. There never appeared to be more than three patrons in the bar at a time - not that there would be room for many more anyhow. This was a place of true misery. It had seen many a failed marriage, big Wall Street deals gone wrong, contracts broken and jobs lost. In a bathroom stall, long, ragged strips of paint scratched out of the wall, a suicide attempt gone wrong.
The owner was a middle aged man who tended the bar night after night, saw the desperation and sadness of his clients yet still had a smile in his eyes. When asked why he would keep such a bastion of misery open, and how could he, for surely he could not be making enough to pay the rent? He would simply nod to the old man at the piano and say
"That there is my father. 30 years ago this bar belonged to him and my mother. Every night she would get on stage and sing while my father played the piano. Over the years this place has become miseries companion, but not to my father. I struggle to pay the rent every month, but not once have I considered closing this place down because since my mother passed away, this bar, these people and that piano, are the only things that keep him alive."
I hope the guy troubles have gotten better!