I’m behind the bar, busy burlesque show, cleavage everywhere you look. Word has it, my friend just upchucked at the bar. And I’ve only served him a drink. Another buddy of mine, kind as he is, and it’s his birthday nonetheless, is mopping it up.
Not ten minutes later, I see that very puker with a can of hard cider in his hand. What’s up? I say. He says, what? I go, usually when you puke, that’s your cue to stop drinking.
He says, no. I’m good.
From my heart to yours,
Clint Curtis. Bartender.