The Goings On at Ned's

Ned the bartender was in a mood.

“Bugsy! Stop eating them roaches! I’m getting complaints from the exterminator. I should be cheering you on; you’re saving me a small fortune, but he’s my brother-in-law, and if I don’t give him work I get the stink-eye from my sister, and my sister’s a regular Picasso with that stink-eye. Go eat a pig’s foot like a normal barfly.”

“My talents served me well during my time with the Traveling Caravan of Fools,” said Bugsy. “A lovely bunch of ne’er-do-wells who loafed their way through life and into the hearts of every sucker who crossed their thirsty souls.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re about to run dry if you don’t start slapping down some coins. And I got a message for all your slouchy stool-mates. I’m putting you out of business! Your eat-a-bug-for-a-beer days are over. And there’s the question of your bar tab, the likes of which ain’t paid since the Hindenburg went down in ’37, marking the tenth anniversary of you being glued to that stool.”

“Ah,’ 37, the same sad day I lost dear Hildy.”

“Hildy?"

“My mail-order bride to be. She went down with the Hindenburg; a golden haired beauty with the eyes of an angel, turned to dust in a dark and dreary twist of fate. I went to Jersey that dreadful day to bid her farewell and fetch some ashes, but was thwarted by a copper with a penchant for clobbering sorrowful near-widowers.”

“Ashes my eye. You went looking for something to scavenge. And I thought you said your bride-to-be went down with the Lusitania in ‘15.”

“That was Esmerelda. A British lass with sorrowful eyes, who claimed to have a dowry the size of Gibraltar, though I think her tale was as long and wonky as the Thames itself. But I was sold on the eyes. They spoke to me.”

“Can you tell me what my eyes are saying? And trust me, they ain’t asking for no wedding band.”

“You frighten me with your mistrust, dear Ned. I fully expect to make good on my debt.”

“What’s truly frightening is I’ve never seen you on your feet. You’re sitting here when I come in at noon, and when I’m ready to leave your flat on your back being ushered out by your bar-mate pallbearers, like you was on your way to Calvary cemetery.”

“I’ve got an almost bride-to be buried at Cavalry.”

“Oh, brother. . . “

“A polish woman of noble girth and tiny feet who stumbled overboard whilst raising her arms in a joyous celebration at having reached America. She plunged into New York harbor and was not seen until many days later when she washed ashore at Coney Island—where I had booked a honeymoon suite at the Mermaid Arms motel. I paid extra for fresh towels and soap.”

“The Mermaid Arms? How many bugs did you have to eat to swing that?”

“You are cruel, Ned. And such cruelty can only be soothed over a cold brew and a hearty laugh. I’ll supply the laughter. You cover the rest.”

“Only if you promise to do the sweeping up later and never to eat a bug in my presence.”

“Sold, dear Ned. Now pass me a pig’s foot.”

Picture coutesy of Wiki Commons: 

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sinking_of_the_Lusitania_London_...