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I hadn't seen her in weeks. My heart was beating violently in some vain attempt to escape my ribcage as I walked up to the bar. Just in case the fact that she wasn't there yet was giving me any comfort, the fact that there were plenty of other faces to turn my stomach at the very thought of them squashed it immediately. I had worked at Red Beard's Tavern for damn near a year, and there wasn't a booze-hound, bar skank, college frat asshole, or lonely business man drowning the day that I didn't know. Its a strange thing to watch; a whole bar turn your way and know that everyone can see your deepest and most personal wounds. The kind that only those you see every day and night for a year get the chance to see. That's why you don't stay in places for very long. When the people watched the scars happen, it's not nearly as interesting, you're not nearly as interesting. Just another drunk. And yet for some reason, certainly not a strange one, here I was. Back in the realm of drunken stupor, walking up, scouring the landscape for the closest face I could see to a friend.

I found that mug attached to Chris, a local drunk struggling to make it just like the rest of us. Chris was Jesus, having gone out to the pub one night with the boys, got caught up bar hoping, picking up tattoos and a nasty coke habit along the way and just never got around to dying for any of our sins, let alone his own. As skinny as his self control, Chris was an original. Part of the crew that started working here years ago, the ones who made the damn place what is was. Tampa's number one place to get polluted. Chris had worked here, sure he just never found his way out. Even after he threatened the head chef, threw plates of food at the customers and got himself banned for life; he was still sitting there at the end of the bar. But Chris was a good guy, a King in his own right. Just a lost one. Though in a town dedicated to drinking and being good at it, no matter who you are, you're pretty fucking lost. He was talking to some fag, a kid I never really bothered to meet. "Look at this smelly fucker right here," I said as I slapped my hand on his right shoulder, interrupting the conversation and causing the fag to look away, "how goes it my friend?"

"Oh, shit dude! What are you doing here?" He turned around with one big drunken grin on his face, eyes sunken in, half open. They were small and turning purple, must have gotten into the Jameson earlier than normal today. As he spoke I could smell the stale cigarettes and PBR's. The smile was because Chris and I had always gotten along, or the whiskey. In truth, it didn't matter why.

The day we first meet was one that had predicted and summed up our relationship in one single horrifyingly, and yet comforting moment. I hadn't gotten the job at the Tavern yet, and was up visiting a friend. I was introduced with Chris to several others hanging around the bar. Whiskey rounds were being handed out among us bombers and while the rest of the group cried out for something to stop the burn, Chris and I sat grinning that same drunken smile that he was giving me now. Enjoying every second that our insides were consumed by fire. Not everyone can enjoy their own self-destruction. While we didn't always have something to say, we always had that. Besides, when you're looking for answers at the bottom of a bottle, words aren't all that necessary.

"I'm sorry I missed the BBQ, how did everything make out?"

"Oh, it was awesome man. Got fuckin' tore up. Wasted, haha!"

"Yeah? That's sweat," I didn't go because I was scared I would have seen her there. "How many people showed up?"

"Like 30 people. Dude we fucking had so much beer! We filled the fridge and just lined up the 18 packs. God damned great wall of miller. haha! It was fucking insane. Was thrashed until 4 in the morning, had to be at work at 8."

"Jesus"

"Fucking yeah man. So what are you doing up here? Sunday Funday?"

Sunday Funday. Fuck me Sunday Funday. Sunday Funday was the day among days to the real drunks. Doug worked at Ernest's and Ally, Chris' girlfriend worked at the Tavern. Not to mention the restaurants closed early and most bars had hospitality night for the very people closing the restaurants early. Truly a sign from God. Maybe Satan. I can't believe I fucking forgot about Sunday fucking Funday.

When I say that we're drunks, I mean just that. Not the beat my wife while I take welfare kind though. The kind that took relish in living week to week, more worried about the bar tab than the rent. If we're not working, we're drinking, and truthfully working never stopped us. We worked our fifty hours of the week in some black hole of a kitchen, sweating and bleeding so the people could enjoy their foie gras, their seared tuna and steamed vegetables over curry rice, their hot wings for the game. But on Sunday, we closed early and Goddamn if we didn't walk the streets like we had built the town. And in many ways we had. We were the ones there every day, breaking our backs to make it a place people wanted to go. Just like the rest of humanity, we had put in our week's work and were headed to church, the church of the lost, but a church none-the-less.

"Aha! Fuck me man I wish I was. No actually I'm here to see Kristen. I'm taking her... huh, we're going to grab a drink. I'm just waiting for her here." Strange that one statement can bring an easy feeling and send your mind racing into oblivion at the same time.

"Cool, cool." Like most drunks we were working in unison at this point. Both with our cigarettes out and lighters in hand just waiting for the right moment to start the cancer train. "So got time for a game?" He motioned towards the beer pong table, the game of choice at the Tavern.

I had planned on meeting her at seven but when I called at quarter till she said five minutes, which meant I wouldn't be seeing her for over a hour. I had plenty of time to finish two games, a couple shots, maybe a sidecar or two before I would have to face up to her. Fuck I could use the liquid courage right? Normally I wouldn't have thought twice about my answer. "Fuck yea I got the time. and in fact, I do recall kicking your lilly little ass the last time we played. You sure your pride can handle another humiliation like that?" But tonight I had other thoughts on my mind. But out of habit I looked at the clock and let it play that it would be my decider.

"Ah, fuck I'd love to but I'm really out here to have that drink with her and you know.." and he did. He was thrown off though that I was saying no, something he had never been able to do when in the situation. "Maybe after." I wasn't much better. "Hey who's in the kitchen?"

"Ah, Eric. Yea Eric. He's all by himself. HA!"

"No, no he's good man. I was the one that pushed for him to take my place. I'm going to say hi." He spoke some confirmation but I was already turned around walking past throngs of faces looking for me to stop by next. I lit my cigarette and headed for the kitchen.

To think of how many times I walked across this courtyard, past these same damn tables; holding trays of food, piles of dishes, garbage; try contemplating how many times you walked to your bathroom, to your refrigerator, to your front door. This was my home, more importantly this used to be mine. Had I not left, it still would be. I could have had a lot more too.

I could hear Frank Zappa coming from the kitchen and was relieved at knowing that Chris couldn't have been that drunk, he was still aware of who was around him.

"Do you know where I can find a cheap whore and an eight ball?" I asked the figure in the kitchen before leaning through doorway.

The figure whipped around half expecting one of the homeless to be there, quickly grabbing the knife on the counter. It was Eric alright, on edge as ever. The light hanging above caught the blade and it blinded me for a second. It brought me back to the roof of the parking garage at Tampa International Airport. Kristen and I had gone there after being caught banging on the side of side road near a loading bay. We stayed up there for what seemed like days. Back then we couldn't keep our hands off each other. Every moment we had we took. I remember her bent over grabbing her ankles, pushing back onto me. Us the only thing moving on the roof and showcased beautifully under the giant parking lights, shinning like stars. As we both came together I had looked up and blinded myself, consumed by that magnificent light, lost in the exstacy of the moment.

I laughed and as my head came down from a quick glance towards the heavens, some praise to them for giving some relief to life, I noticed that he wasn't alone. In fact he was really not alone. There was a girl on her knees, and while I couldn't quite see what she was doing, do to the angle, I had a pretty good idea. Something that Kristen and I had done many times before, right there. Same spot and all. Goddamnit I miss her.

"OOOH! HA! Sorry, sorry, sorry!"

I turned around and made my way around back so that I could walk straight to Chris and not get caught by someone I truly had no interest in seeing. Around back, in the outside bathrooms, that's where Kristen and I first made love. If you could call it that. Fuck we broke off the sink and broke the toilet in several places. It was more along the lines of animalistic, sweat-pouring, tequila induced ravaging of each others bodies, but hey love making none the less. What I wouldn't give to taste her again. Just one lick of her neck, one swallow of her breasts.

Chris is still at the bar but talking to someone new, talking about God knows what. I could never guess what it was people found to talk about with him. Sure enough though, here he was in all his drunken glory, talking some old school businessman up. Keeping him laughing and buying drinks. A crafty but necessary trick of the trade. I decided to let 'em be and walked over to an unoccupied booth and wait for my, well shit I can't seem to find the words to describe what she is. To be sure she wasn't mine; my anything. Definitely not my girlfriend, or lover, or old lady or any of those terrible cliches that society won't let off the death grip it has on them. She wasn't the one that got away, in fact that I might have left that one for Kristen. She wasn't the one I never had, because goddamn did I have her when I did. God damned if I didn't. She wasn't my Ex either, although I guess that would be the closest to the right answer. I guess if I had to I would say she was the right one. The one who always treated me good, was always there and loved me even when I didn't return the favor. Not in anyway she could see. And I'd be damned if that right one didn't go wrong.

As I sat there smoking my Blues and contemplating just what it was that I would say to her when she walked up, I saw out of the corner of my eye Brad. Brad was the manager of the place, THE original of the crew. A godfather of sorts. He may have been the manager but he was the owner to everyone who knew better. His word was law. He had the vision and drive to take this place from some shitty pirate themed bar to the talk of the town in a matter of years. The true owners, while they pretended to have say in how the place ran, but even they knew the score.

Unfortunately for Brad all that also brought on every drunk in town wanting to be his best friend. And could you really blame them? He was in the middle of a drunkard's circle at the moment and I caught his eye. Again a smile grew at the sight of me, except this time it wasn't because a drinking partner had come in, but because he saw his way out. Should you ever find yourself in such a bind, anyway you can find out of a drunkard's circle, trust me and take it. He was in luck because him and I had always gotten along. In fact there weren't many people in the town I didn't get along with. Ironic that I had no interest in the most of them then. We had always seen eye to eye, Brad and myself, and it didn't hurt that I was his best employee and Kristen was his best friend. Them and half the others that worked or lived here had. It was like one day a whole town decided to move to Ybor and take over.

He quickly made his way to my booth and sat down, trying to avoid all other eye contact than mine.