This Song has No Title

I was humming that old Elton John song, This Song has No Title, but my story didn’t even have Just Words and a Tune.

Every decent, and those less-so hotels deserve a back stairwell. I used the one at the Moose Snout Hotel with a bold and brashness that was reminiscent of my younger days, where I was just a lowly salesman away from home, and my mother’s wise words: “Never fall in love with a Foreign Woman, son. There is nothing but heartache and trouble waiting for you there!”

The darn thing was, Mom considered every woman who didn’t live on our side of the street, Foreign. She also forgot to mention that there weren’t any women living on our side of the street, unless I took her into that difficult equation.

Lola Prim wasn’t one to forget her roots. “The Proper way to bend this conjugation, or slice a dihedral from the side of this difficult equation can be done, with great skill using a knife like this one, whereupon she would produce a knife, that could easily separate one of her “presumed lovers” from his manhood within the time it took to please her in 145 exciting and foreign ways. Pleasing Lola was though not easy, and the threat of “separation” always lurked in the background, where the knife cupboard was located, with Lola herself, possessing the only key, hanging around her neck, close to my two good friends named,

Lola just looked at her students as if with her guidance, and their youth, they both would be going far in life. Much farther than they thought they would be going, but not as far as Lola had gone before with others. Lola was….where was I? Oh yeah. The back stairwell.

It always allowed me the opportunity to exit any unpleasant situation, like having to explain why I don’t being in Moose Snout with Lola, or another man bursting into the room yelling, “Sorry Buddy. Didn’t mean to catch you in the middle of somebody, but that certain somebody just happens to be my wife!” Then the guns would start blazing with Lola stopping just long enough to light her unlightable cigarette, while shooting the breeze with the disgruntled husband, while his wife and I tried to put our pants back on, one leg at a time.

The bar was just about empty, only being populated by the Bartender, and a woman of non-negotiable needs standing at the other end, sipping her Tundra Tea. The Bartender had just told her that age-old joke about the 2 Caribou and the Moose who came into this very bar, and

I was down on my luck. I felt as if no one could cheer me up, not even by telling that classic joke, which managed to get the woman in the Imitation Caribou Jacket laughing so hard that tears ran down her face, not unlike the waters lapping up along the sides of Homer Spit running tried and true towards the other side of Kenai Peninsula. We were young and in love, when she told me that Homer was not her cup of Tea, and that she would be leaving me on the first bus out of there. Traveling along highway 1 towards Anchorage, wasn’t a journey, she wanted to take either, so she stopped along the way, where she

OK. I was at the bar, when the Bartender came over to me and asked “What’s your Poison, Buddy?”

I was reminded of another totally non-connected story, which might seem interesting to some of my readers, but one that no bearing on the story at hand, so I opted for a Whisky Straight without ice, and spent my time drinking it, while wondering what I was doing in that Lola-forsaken-place in the first place? I always ordered my drinks without ice, no matter how much I really desired ice, but that is another story altogether, isn’t it?

The Bartender apparently felt sorry for me, and came over and sat down, after placing 2 ice-cubes into my drink. “The very last ice-cubes on this side of the Arctic Circle, but lucky for us, we don’t get many visitors asking for ice here in Moose Snout”. He listened to my story, about the first time that I’d met Lola. I was just getting to the juicy part of the story, when he said “Don’t worry too much about your troubles. Sooner or later another Temporal Loop will hit you, solving your problems, or creating them again”.

I just looked up from my drink to see Lola standing at the bar. The same Bartender had just told her the story of the 2 Caribou and the Moose, and after she laughed so hard that she cried Tears of Joy, she turned to the Bartender and asked if he had any ice-cubes for her drink……

The first time I met Lola. The very first time I met Lola. The first before the last time, I told how we met, was back in



“…I’m an innocent child, sharp as a knife…” This Song Has No Title – Elton John from Yellow Brick Road

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