The Blues & Billie Armstrong 50
TWO CAGES
Previously in The Blues & Billie Armstrong…
I turned off the phone and placed it face down on the kitchen counter, drained the glass of bourbon and went to the bedroom and swapped the pjs for a pair of khakis, a hoodie and some slip-on sneakers. I grabbed my wallet and keys on the way to the door, pulled the hood up around my face and walked out into the gray city day.
My original plan was simply to catch my breath in neutral territory so to speak, a favorite bar in the Outer Sunset called Remo’s.
A dark old place of smoke-stained wood, red tuck and roll and a pool table under a beer light. A workingman’s dive well past its peak earning years, where two strangers drinking in silence at opposite ends of the bar are actually engaged in a form of male bonding, and a fresh drink can be ordered with nothing but a chin nod.