Blackout Is Over


A four month blackout on Notes From a Dive Bar.
Now returning with news of a fight.

Hare Krishna. Hare Krishna. Hare Krishna. My hands in prayer mode, shouting Hare Krishna. Peace. Peace. A flying punch whistles past my nose. The smaller combatant hits the floor rocked by the fist of fury. The larger man is on top of him. I'm on his back yelling, Hare Krishna. More men gather. The danger level rises. Phones come out of pockets to snap a grey beard getting between the bruises of the younger males in the pack.

I'm moving the smaller man to the door. The large man is not far behind, fists ready. We arrive at the exit. My ear is ringing. Curse and threat prevail. I think of chirping birds in the countryside filled with flowers. I think of George Harrison playing his guitar, gently weeping. I bark at the pugilists. Be friendly, and make peace, shake hands. Do it!

The larger man reaches out his paw, the one that raked the violence, open now to sowing accord. The smaller man, angry, bitten, his left jaw puffed. He swallows hard and presses flesh. I should have worked at the United Nations.

Sorry, says the big man, magnanimously, I got my punch in, I'm leaving. You can stay and finish your beer.

I play My Sweet Lord on the jukebox. And the tune of harmony reigns again in the dive bar. Until next time.

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