Act Three, Scene the First
O’Hanlon’s was and is located just west of the corner of 1st Avenue and East 14th Street; Manhattan County, New York; United States of America; Continent of North America; Western Hemisphere; the Earth; the Solar System; the Universe; the Mind of God.
I always thought the name was funny because it was the same at my 12th grade English teacher’s. I laughed imagining her behind the bar pulling pints, calling her increasingly drunk patrons “gentlemen and scholars.” O’Hanlon’s was an Irish bar, with a few steps down to enter, mirrors along one wall, bar along the right wall with stools in front, a window to document the action from the other side. Very comfortable space, with several plasma TVs. Game on.
I got to the bar — I pretty sure I had my denim jacket on — and saw a crowd of people standing and staring at the sky, the cloudy October sky, that held a halfway orange moon in its palm. The full lunar eclipse was going on, but wouldn’t be complete for another hour or so (if Memory ain’t lying).
I ducked into the bar and it was the fourth or fifth inning, Red Sox still ahead. Got meself a beer (a Bass) from Seamus the tender and got a stool in the corner, right below the window that overlooked the street.
My mind was a little frenetic that night, and my body couldn’t keep still. I’d finish a beer and go outside to look at the eclipse and kiss the sky. At one point I noticed I was in front of a guy and a girl shorter than me (like 90-odd percent of the population) and cracked that it was a “two-fold lunar eclipse.” They didn’t get the hilarious joke, and you might not either until you remember or find out that my real last name has the word “MOON” in it. Hysterical.
Well, the guy had dark hair and four days of stubble, and the 35-year old blonde next to him was pale and had a Cardinals shirt on. We chatted about the eclipse, as you do, and then the lady tells me I have a nice smile. I said, “Thank you.” And then she said, “You can compliment me, too.” And I said, “I thought you two were going out.” And they shook their heads and laughed and laughed. I didn’t, and went inside.
When I got back in, I noticed something hanging from the back of the chair next to the one on which I was seated. It was a plastic bag that held a box of Popeye’s chicken. There was (and may still be) a Popeye’s on my old street corner, so I wasn’t weirded out or anything.
A man who in my mind looks more and more like a cross between Ed Harris and Ed O’Neill (Al Bundy) sat down on the chicken chair.
In a pleasant mood because of the Red Sox score and the beer, I became suddenly social and told the man, who was wearing a suit, that there was chicken on the back of his chair.
He told me that he knew, and that he put it there. He offered me a piece.
But I declined.
Then we got to talking.
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