"...tend(s)
to ramble a bit..." -BAST Music Magazine
6pm Sunday
Staring into the beer cooler at a funky eatery in central Pennsylvania. Guy walks up, pulls out a twelve pack of Natural Ice, walks to the counter, puts it down, comes back to pull out another.
"Yeah, why not," he says. Turns to me out of the blue, starts talking. "Last week where I work, I work at the steel plant...this guy cut his hand..."
The guy failed to return a safety cover to a piece of machinery before using it. His sleeve got caught, pulled his hand in, most of the hand was cut off.
This guy was shaken by it. He had gone outside the shop to puke.
He is drunk, glassy eyed, breath stinks. I hardly say two words. He goes on with the tale.
"So guess who's coming in this week--OSHA," he rolls his eyes.
"C'mon!" his old lady yells to him from the counter. They are both skinny, near-homeless looking, dirty, like they had just crawled out from a day at the worst blue collar job.
They buy cigarettes, leave carrying the beer. I stare back into the beer cooler.
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