Dwayne
Dwayne was sitting at the end of the bar drinking whisky and coke in a pint glass. The man next to him was reading the sports page. The bar was cool and dark and big and empty.
"Paul. What are you reading?"
"Sports page."
"Well," said Dwayne, "we're just glad to have you here in the club of literates is all."
"Just statistics. Statistics are statistics. Census takers."
Dwayne finished his drink and raised his hand. The cloudy light from the big window moved up his arm. "Tennessee I'll take another," he said. The bartender looked at him from the other end of the bar. Dwayne grinned and felt his chest. "Knucklehead factory straight through the roof. Join me Paul?"
Paul left the paper open and followed Dwayne outside. You could see them smoking through the window next to where Dwayne's dog was tied to the bike rack in the rain. You could not hear their voices and then the dog raised its head when Dwayne spoke and his tail would jerk a little and his ears would perk. He tried to move between Dwayne's legs but the leash was knotted too short.
The bartender was pouring the whisky into the glass when they came back through the door. "A bit more Tennessee," said Dwayne. She stared at him and tilted the bottle again. "There you go Tennessee. Now we're cooking with steam." She brought him the drink and he grabbed her wrist. "What's next Tennessee? What's the agenda today?"
"I don't know Dwayne."
He pointed to his dog in the rain. "Have you ever heard them Tennessee? When they get going on a rabbit? Or like a beagle on a bear. Have you heard that sound?"
Her cheeks were pink and smooth and she had a Jewish face. Paul looked up from his paper and you could hear the stock boy on the steps to the basement with the produce.
"That's your two for today, Dwayne."
Dwayne smiled and left her wrist. "Maybe she never had a dog."
Paul grinned at the bartender and she had never smiled once. "Tell her the one about the whore with leprosy Dwayne."
Dwayne looked at the bartender. "Did you hear about her Tennessee?"
"No Dwayne."
"Her business fell off."
The stock boy shut the grate on the sidewalk and walked through the bar into the kitchen.
"Sorry Tennessee. Knucklehead factory straight through the roof today."
"It's alright Dwayne."
She left him and he drank. When it was finished he stood up and put on a yellow raincoat with NYCHA across the back. As he went into the street the dog stood up and as he unlooped the leash from the rack it began to wag its tail.
