Porous Memory

The moment
I’ve been recalling moments. Started with the absolute complete waste of bandwidth, driven by a certain 65 Virgo. Reminded me of a moment, when everything changed.

I write to excise demons, as much as anything.

The moment, in the Greenville Bar & Grill, happy hour, on a Tuesday, middle of the long, hot summer. Me and a buddy – roommate – were drinking cheap draft beer for happy hour, a pair of European cafe racer motorcycles were curbside.

That summer, I was working at small motorcycle shop — BMW of Ft. Worth — having walked out of lucrative and prestigious star bartender and bar manager at the ultra hip dive, the Greenville Ave. Country Club. I’m not familiar with the current history of “The Avenue,” Lower Greenville – but as I understand, neither place is still there.

After my untimely departure, the Greenville Ave. Country Club, they had a shift in management. Then, there I was, sipping suds, 96 calories in a 12-oz serving, and the new manager caught up with me. Not like it was far, maybe six, eight blocks south.

Her name was Janelle, best I can do, blonde, very attractive, and smart, too. She approached me and asked if I would consider coming back, guest spot, just Friday and Saturday nights, as I was the fastest and most personality, best bartender at the time. For that place. Not like the standards were high.

Nice offer. Choice shifts for money. I turned it down, working in a motorcycle shop was more interesting, more fulfilling. Youthful pride and arrogance? I’m not sure that European cafe racers -liter bikes- had any kind of future, but that was was then.

A singular moment, however, never might know. Just one of the frozen tableaux.


Two-thirds of the way through The Fat Guy’s recent screed, I had another memory, the idea of stumbling out into the morning’s light, still blurry and smokey from the previous evening. Maybe waterlogged, too.

I ran a club, another six-eight blocks further south than that Greenville Bar & Grill area, and it’s another moment in time, frozen, and remembered.

I was wearing a suit, business suit, no tie, but slacks and coat, the shirt had starch at one time, and the pants were pressed but probably more wrinkled. Sunglasses and a briefcase. Looking sharp, and the guy opening the store next door, a health food store (later bought by Whole Foods – always an Austin connection), one of the owners walking in as I was walking out.

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