Desire

As I left Bill's Melody Bar, the rain lessened and the Miami moon made an appearance. The thick blanket of black which had temporarily blotted out the moon's presence was now reduced to an occasional cloud running before a fleeting wind. Bill's closed at 5:00 AM and the Blue Bell Lounge opened at 5:00 AM, so the only problem was to get from the one bar to the other without destroying one's car and oneself. Such a journey was like driving a carnival dodgem car down a dark street of alcoholic dreams.

The Blue Bell was crowded and the bartenders, being fresh on the job, were friendly. I sipped slowly on the Cutty Sark and passively observed the crowd. A shapely woman with snow-white skin, raven black hair, and a come-hither smile was sitting at the bar with a muscle-bound hulk of a man. The man was drooped across his portion of the bar and was apparently passed out. I pushed myself from the high-chair style stool and sidled along the circular bar toward the object of my desire. The lovely woman quietly watched my progress, encouraging me with a warm smile. The big man awoke as I occupied the seat next to his woman. He looked around dazedly, fixated on the two of us, sized up the situation, rose to his feet, and swung a Tysonian fist in the direction of my face. In my anxiousness to remove my head from the path of his huge fist, I fell over backwards, barstool and all. When I awoke, I was in jail and a stranger in a sharkskin suit who said he was the attorney for the defense was informing me of my chances of getting off with only 10 years of imprisonment, the charge, manslaughter. In actuality, the big fellow, in missing me completely with his intended blow, had staggered forward, hit the barroom floor, head first, and been killed by the impact. Unfortunately, his girl friend had sworn under oath that I had initiated the altercation.

Signed Higgins

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