#4 has finally decided upon a career. This time, I am told, it's for real. "Because, mama,"he explained,"your heart sometimes just tells you that you know what job you would be good at."
He has decided that he would like to own a real, old-fashioned saloon. The kind with horns on the walls, and guns. The kind where the bartender has lots of glasses arranged on a glass shelf. The kind with swinging doors so it will be easy to come inside. The tables are going to be made out of wood which breaks easily, so that when two men get into a fight, and one tosses the other accross the room, the table will make a big crash and break, but nobody will get hurt.
He will not serve wine at his saloon. Only beer, whiskey, and root beer. And maybe Coke. But not wine. And no food, just baskets of snacks. Like pretzels, and sandwich cookies.
He's going to have places to tie your horses out in his parking lot, but he'll have room for cars, too, because, he explained, sometimes cowboys like to drive cars, and sometimes they like to drive horses. He'll keep a shotgun behind the bar, in case anyone gets too wild. (Note to self: do not allow other Horsemen to go to #4's saloon). He also intends to have dartboards, and pool tables. And TV. Large-screen TV. I said,"Oh, of course, so people can come in and watch hockey or football, right?"
I always have to spoil it, don't I? "Of course not!" he said firmly."The TVs will be only for things that cowboys would like to watch in an old-fashioned saloon. Things like 'Wheel Of Fortune'. And 'Jeopardy', and stuff like that!"
Something tells me that his revenue may not be enough to cover his insurance policy.
When Poe ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.
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