The last time I saw him, he came in the bar with her. I was sitting at my table in the corner, back to the wall, watching who came in the door. They saw me about the same time I saw them. She was drunk on her ass. They went to the bar but he eyeballed me, wouldn’t turn his back on me. Smart move. I saw him checking the exits. He kind of straddled a stool. They ordered drinks and the drinks came and she paid. I was wondering what to hit the son of a bitch with this time. There wasn’t anything in there but cue sticks and balls. There was probably a shotgun behind the counter, but I knew I’d never make it to that. There was always the side door, but I didn’t think I was quite ready for that. I wanted to see what her act was, what the game she was playing was, what I was gambling with over a small piece of nearly skinny ass.

I got up and put some money in the jukebox and sat back down. People get ready … And then Jeff Beck cut loose and filled the whole place up with his guitar. The people shooting pool moved to it. The drunks sitting around the bar wished it was them playing it. She swayed on the barstool and looked over her shoulder at me and winked, and his beer slammed down, and he was coming, and I picked up the wooden chair I was sitting in and gave it to him, this time straight across the teeth.

Nobody said a word when I walked out with her, especially not him.

We found some place off in the woods again, not the same place, not her house, not a motel room, just a place off in the woods. Crickets were chirping. Coon dogs or fox dogs somewhere were running. She fed the end of the joint to me and I fed it back to her and, while all that was going on in the face of what all had gone on, I wondered: what was the purpose? But I didn’t want to think about things much right then. She laid those lips on me, and we moved down in the seat, and I knew that it wouldn’t be but a little bit before those headlights, somebody’s, would ease around the curve.

Big Bad Love