6
Arrival at the Elbow.
Part of me thinks it would be
hilarious to enter through the window I was tossed out of just this afternoon.
But I’m not feeling very entertaining right now. I’d rather cry than bust a
gut. And anyway, a team of blue-overalled workers are busy installing a new picture
window in place of the one that was shattered by my rather compact, but solid, five-foot
nine-inch, one hundred eighty-five pound frame.
As usual, Matt is behind the bar
still wearing his ABCD, AC/DC black cotton tee.
“No more trouble, Chase,” he says,
popping the top on a green bottle of Heineken for me. “You’re costing me a
small fortune in glass. Not to mention the words ‘Fiddlers’ and ‘Elbow’ I’ll
need to have stenciled on it. You know how much one of those artists charge?”
He says “a
