A Sunday
main street sunset serenade. Standing in the corner of Broadway and 1st Street Mississippi
river rolls sweetly close by. Sometimes it’s the only audible
sound. Looking around I can imagine how this intersection would be bursting
with people and cars if it was any other day of the week and the many
businesses would be open. On Sunday I’m guessing people have taken early to
their homes as soon as the sun started setting and the temperatures started
dropping significantly. It’s early October and it feels like we’re deep into
winter already. The sunset is spreading its vivid orange (colour) across the
sky and it feels to illuminate everything in its path giving a glowing look to
this street scene. I start walking around the block, not wanting to wander off
too much, as the Greyhound bus has only stopped here for a 20 minute break. The
sunset keeps hanging on in the air giving now a bright orange-red glow as I
come to a building straight out of the old west it seems.
The Broadway
Sports Bar is hardly noticeable except for a few signs on its tiny windows that
advertise a game room, satellite TV and 75 cents beer specials. But what really
draws my attention is the false front building that looks as old as the town
itself. The kind of building I’m used to seeing further up west from here and
in smaller towns or ghost towns. In fact, looking at the buildings that
surround it, it’s easy to assume that this might be the oldest building still
standing in this town. As I come in the smell of stale beer fills the air.
Behind a big mahogany counter by the entrance, the bartender cleans beer
glasses inattentively and seems to pay more attention to the three big screen
TVs above him, broadcasting three different NFL games. He’s in his early
fifties and can only hide his frown when he’s not self-conscious about it. I
sit by the counter and wait for the bartender to notice me which takes him a
few seconds. I notice a coffee pot behind the counter and when Bob, the
bartender realizes I’m sitting there, he apologizes and introduces himself. I
ask if the coffee is fresh and he says it’s from breakfast but he’ll be happy
to make a new pot. I say it’s not necessary but he keeps insisting on it so I
give in. While the coffee is brewing he asks where I’m from and I say I’m just
passing through on the Greyhound heading west. At the end of the bar there are
a couple of pool tables and a foosball table. Three men in their thirties play
in one of the pool tables and only seem to divert their attention to the
football games on TV when the announcer’s voice seem to indicate an imminent
touchdown or a great defensive play. The smell of fresh coffee starts replacing
the smell of stale beer and Bob serves me my coffee in a mug with the logo of
the place. I ask Bob about the building and it says that it dates back to 1885,
one of the oldest standing buildings in town. As far back as he can remember,
this has always been the “Broadway Sports Bar”, but the people who sold him the
place more than twenty years ago have told him that it used to house pretty
much every business I can think of, from a whorehouse to a Chinese Laundromat
to a law office. I notice an old Wurlitzer jukebox unplugged just sitting on a
dark corner of the bar and wonder if it is just a reminder of better days. Bob
sees me admiring the jukebox and tells me this used to be a music bar when he
started running it with some live bands on weekends. Over the years the
interest has waned down and the costumers started vanishing so he turned it
into a sports bar which seems to pick the business side of it a little bit. Then
came the no-smoking ordinance and that’s when things turned worse. I point out
that it’s unusual on a Sunday afternoon with the NFL all over TV to see the bar
almost empty. Bob says a few years ago business started shifting from Broadway
when newer, bigger and modern bars opened across town. His wife Judy and him
have been toying with the idea of selling the place but nowadays the return on
the investment would be so small that it would render it almost obsolete. On
the other hand, they’ve been late on paying the loan to the bank every month
this year and things are not getting any better. I notice the time on the clock
above the counter and rush to finish the coffee. I also notice that next to it
there are lot of merchandising gathering dust on a display case. I ask Bob if
they’re for sale and he says that he hasn’t sell any in ages that he almost
forgot they were there. I pay for the coffee and ask if I can pay for the mug
he served me coffee with. Bob takes a new clean mug from the display case and
hands it to me saying it’s a gift to remember them by, hoping next time I come
this way the doors will still be open. I thank him and head out the door.
Outside it
has gotten dark and cold fast and a light snow is falling. A single streetlight
lamp flickers just outside the bar. I hear roars from the small crowd of three
inside the bar, so somebody must have scored. I run to catch the bus as it’s
about to leave and take my seat upfront. I take the mug and store it safely in
my backpack. The bus rolls on Broadway and passes the bar. Bob is just outside
the door sweeping the first drops of snow that have gathered suddenly on the
sidewalk. With just enough desperation on his face he stops sweeping and lights
a cigarette and savours it like it’s the last one he’s gonna have. The bus
crosses the bridge over the Mississippi river
and heads into Highway 10. A big full moon hangs in the air above town and it
seems to steal the crystalline bluish colour from the mighty river,
illuminating the empty streets of town in such a way that it seems to be
serenading it to sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment