I have previously mentioned the Guy Who Stares At Women's Asses Too Long, and --  for  a quick recap --  here is his most distinguishing characteristic: He Stares At Women's Asses Too Long. I had said he was creepy, but did not seem particularly threatening. I'm not sure if I fully stand behind that statement anymore. While he doesn't have full Serial Killer Vibe, it seems like a mask is slipping, and that he doesn't really care if it is. The Woman With The Smart Wardrobe caught him staring at her ass a few days ago, and told him to Fuck Off. As I have said before about her, she is not afraid to say such things. He has stared at her ass before, of course, but this time she responded. Maybe the effect had been cumulative; maybe she has had a change of patience about such things. Or maybe she has seen the mask slipping, too, and was firing a warning shot: she is perceptive, along with being a smart dresser. With a nice ass. Sorry, but true is true. Many men live i

There is a man who comes by the bar infrequently; mid-sixties, keeps to himself. I have spoken with him a few times, but he is not the talkative kind. Polite, short sentences, then back to reading his book. He grew up in the Soviet Union, then came to America after the USSR dissolved back into being Russia. I would love to hear his stories, but, as I said, he doesn't talk much. He listens, though, and it is very interesting to watch him listen. This is Seattle, and Seattle is Proudly Progressive: when people talk politics they often talk about how it really isn't Progressive enough. The Big Ideas are held back. By the Republicans, by Big Business, by the Usual Suspects with the Usual Reasons: Greed, and, well, greed, mostly. Sometimes he listens to these conversations: sometimes he arches an eyebrow slightly, sometimes an almost imperceptible shake of the head. I don't know if such small gestures come from a man who is naturally quiet, or if growing up in the S

The Girl With The Tattoos And The Streaked Hair From A Bottle hasn't been at the bar lately. I don't think it's because she found a job: we would've heard the good news. She would've come in to celebrate. No, I think it is probably the lack of money that comes from being out of work. Maybe depression, too. A lack of money and depression often are travel partners. And they sleep on your couch. As I had mentioned previously, she quit her last job because her ex-boss was pressuring her to have sex with him. The Woman With The Smart Wardrobe has mentioned before that she has had bosses making coarse invitations to her; she is the type to tell someone firmly to Fuck Off. She does not see a need for candy-coating, which is refreshing: it can't always be candy. Of course, when you work in a job with a Human Resources Department there are options in handling such situations: there is back-up, there is a threat to the assholes. Bars generally don't have HR D

The City Employee With The Weird Grin sees himself as an elite. Sure, he just has a mid-level job with the City, but he is in the Clubhouse. He has seen Important People at the elevators, he has listened to Important People talk Important Things while waiting in line for coffee beverages. They might have nodded at him once or twice. I have used in reference to him the phrase Cut-and-Paste Nation, and he is Cut-and-Paste smart. He has read about that thing you are talking about, he will send you a link. He might not know much about that other thing you are talking about, but he has memes about it on his phone, so he gets the gist. I would think that he would be frequenting a bar with more status, one Downtown instead of on the Ave, one more in line with his self-regard. Of course, maybe he has tried that already, and found that the Important People that talk Important Things have no need to talk to him. This is just a guess. So he positions himself as an elite at a bar that

It happens in politics, it happens in families, it happens in the workplace, so -- of course -- it happens at the bar: people who were once close turn on each other. And, like in all of those places, it makes the people close to them uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with easy access to an alcoholic beverage, yes, but still: uncomfortable. Sometimes it is politics, sometimes a sense of betrayal. Sometimes a principle, sometimes unrequited love. Some causes seem rational, some seem silly, but that doesn't really matter. If the people involved are taking it that seriously, then the needle is in the red. And the needle stays in the red, because no mechanic wants to take on that shit. A lot of people think that, somehow, the bartender can fix these things. Because bartenders are Magic. They turn your money into alcohol, which is always a good trick. But unless one of the Red Needle People is a lousy customer, then there is not much he or she can do: the bartender is paid to serve c

There is an Ave Casualty that is on her second round on the street. Years ago she would frequent the bar, play pool, socialize. A very pretty young woman, she was outgoing, with a quick smile. Drama did not seem to circle her, like it does some young women. Drama chases some women; some invite it. For her it seemed to keep a respectable distance. Then she stopped coming inside the bar as much, but you would still see her on the street, outside, passing by. She had fallen in love with a Heroin Kid. Maybe she thought she could save him, I don't know. But of course it went the other way, like it usually does: she began to get thin, her eyes became dull, distant. Soon the quickest way to see her was to wander by the Heroin Kids in front of the Sporting Goods store, hoping for spare change from the random pedestrians who hadn't seen all of this before. Then she disappeared. Which often meant an overdose. However, the word was she left to go back home to the Midwest, to fami