At the Broken-Winged Pelican Bar

The other day, when I was just a wee-bit younger than I usually admit to, I found myself on Homer Spit, a narrow piece of land extending into Kachemak Bay. That is in Alaska, if you didn’t know it, and I won’t take offense if you ask me a time or two more, where exactly this story takes place, because it doesn’t take very much energy at all to say….Alaska!

I’d been running some pipe in the basement of a nearby house, when a powerful thirst came over me. I took my pipe-wrench, yes the Alaskan Variety, and tightened thing extra good, so my small break didn’t lead to a flood of Biblical Proportions, which might just cause the locals, known as “Homerites” to place me on the first bus to, well let’s just say, Canada. All right?

The entrance to the Bar, known as the Broken-Winged Pelican, was watched over by a local woman, who claimed to be born a Homerite, but only if she was drunk, while arm-wrestling/threatening to shoot the first person who agreed with that statement! My only wish concerned my whistle, which needed wetting in an awful way, but not all wishes come true, especially when people named Lola Kenai operate as the door-bouncer at that moment in time!

I just sauntered along, tipping my hat at the ladies on the street, enjoying a view that encompassed the many businesses, and bars along this stretch of the road. Oh, I admit to being a regular at the Salty Dawg Saloon nearby, but it might just be that the beer at this Pelican Bar tasted a bit better, or was it just that I wanted to taste something else, what was now blocking my entry into this establishment, somewhere close to the shrinking metropolis known as Homer Alaska.

Later on that same day, I would wonder if it hadn’t been better eating a doughnut, or ogling discreetly the many and varied flavors of Alaskan Women that strolled nearby? Homer Spit had become a sort of picture-window, with its many temptations and delights, but I was lacking as usual, the means and opportunity of enjoying them, then waking with a smile on my face, a bottle in the one hand, with the other….well, you get the picture, don’t you?

I considered waiting until a crowd of thirsty patrons developed outside the bar, allowing me to blend into the local color, but it seemed as if they had decided to flock at some other broken-winged bar nearby, leaving me standing there, almost naked in my thoughts, while Lola stood in the doorway, wondering if it was time for her afternoon smoke, a local favorite, an Augustine cigarette?

“Light Ma’am” I ventured to ask, while slapping my pockets for something to light the fire in her cold, cold heart, while she just looked at me saying, “I don’t smoke ’em, I just like the feel of them between my lips!” Well. I must say, and a few other thoughts that rolled around in my head at that statement, but it still didn’t allow me entry, that is access, into her guarded sanctuary, while that thirst still was drying in my mouth, and the pipes were perhaps bursting in the basement, of what might be my last paying job on Homer Spit?

I decided just to walk in casually, while commenting on something that would just slide by her air of indifference, allowing me to…

“Just what do you think, you are doing?” a question, to which most people, who had money in their pockets, and a thirsty-look on their faces, wouldn’t need to explain, but Lola wasn’t one to take lip from just any man, woman, or broken-winged Pelican! I placed my hat in my hands, while trying to smooth out my hat-hair as good as possible, before saying, “Well. Seeing as how this is a bar, and seeing as how I had this powerful thirst, and seeing as how my admiration for women who would deny me the fulfillment of connecting the two things, I thought…..”

What was it I thought? Standing this close to her, with her being able to reach out and kill me with one blow, or me being able to kiss her, by falling under her temptations, was something that I hadn’t considered happening, just one half hour before, while the pipes were dripping, telling me that minus in my bank-account wasn’t getting its needs attended to, if I chose to wet my aforementioned whistle, and get my jollies at someone elses expense!

She might have helped me out just a bit by saying, “Well, what are you going to do now?” said while uncrossing her arms, telling me by use of her body-language, that I might just be tasting something sweet and pleasing while the crowds of tourists outside, ate doughnuts, and put their dollar-bills on the walls of the Salty Dawg Saloon!

She did manage to pull me close to whisper, “This is the first time, we’ve met, so I’ll be easy on you!”

That line should be the one that I’d be telling our grandchildren someday, when they asked how we first met, or it could be the one that I’d be explaining at the hospital, or police-station, after just another altercation with the local population by some wayward tradesman, who should have kept his pipe in his pants…..

-But that story will have to be told another time, I guess? At least when it all becomes clear in my mind, about exactly what happened on that most fateful day, somewhere in Alaska…..

*……An Alternative Lola Story…..*

My adventures of Lola & Co. are going to hibernate for the time being, so I won’t be posting for a while. I’ll still be writing, but you won’t get to read it, until I figure out if blogging is still something I want to do, or is it really worth continuing with exposing my imagination to the general public?

——- only time will tell…..


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