Piney Branch Beer & Wine

Raging Bitch!
That’s all I could think about, as the twang of her voice impinged around my skull for what must have been days on end, but in truth was only just a few scant hours ago, but I was on the road now, looking for that elusive raging bitch that the woman was so frantically fixated upon, and traveling down a lone road, in the dead of night with midnight breathing down my neck.
Better be careful, I thought to myself. This road is full of traps.
Be careful? I laughed at myself. If you come back empty handed, the last thing your are going to have to worry about is traps. No Raging Bitch and you’ve got yourself a cyclone of destruction. And people thought Ahab was a white whale junkie. Pffft. They obviously have never tasted the flying dog.
That’s when I saw her. She was on the corner of the road with her siren leg, elegantly protruded out from the slit of her dress. She did a tiny little wave with her delicate hand and I slammed on the brakes.
What’s a nice boy like you doing in a town like this? she asked, as I let down the car window.
I couldn’t say a thing. All I could do was replay those crimson lips asking me that question, over and over again. Then I heard the fingernails tapping on the car door like Art Tatum on the piano.
I’m not sure, I said. I’m just doing some good things for bad people.
Then you’re the man for me, she replied. Be a sport and give me and the kid a ride. We are in desperate need of Torpedo. It’s the perfect night for getting hopped up.
She jumped in the car with a little guy, who had a face split in two, like those Greek masks — smiling and crying at the same time.
Where are you going? I asked the kid.
The same place as you, she answered for the kid. Now you know how to use those hands. Just grasp the stick and jostle it around a bit, then we can get moving. I’m sure you know the routine.
She gave me a wink that cut like a blade across my face.
I’m not sure getting hopped up is really for you, I said to her, as I put the car in gear. I think you’re more of a Spanish wine type.
They’ve got that there, too. But, I’m not into Spaniards. I’m more of a Bordeaux gal. I could get that, as well, but wine is for afternoons and the spicy hops are calling me.
You must be a mean drunk, I blurted out.
She didn’t say a damn thing. The silence would have killed us all, if the kid hadn’t whimpered out a soft, maniacal laugh.
I’m only mean when I drink McSorley’s light and dark together on a sunny day. Lucky for you that it’s night, because they have the light and the dark at where we are going. Then again, I’m meaner when I’m sober, so I suggest you hurry up, because by the hands of my watch, you have two minutes until midnight. She pulled her lips up to the back of my ear, and we all know what happens after midnight. Don’t we?
That we did and in the stroke of 30 seconds I had pulled up in front of Piney Branch Beer & Wine.
She got her Sierra Nevada Torpedo Extra IPA. I got my Flying Dog Raging Bitch. The kid was going to get some Starr Hill Jomo Lager, but being the little, mixed up guy that he is, got the Leffe Blonde instead. I also caught the little guy snagging a bottle of Spanish red wine, while pretending that I saw nothing of the act.
With that, the clock struck midnight and lights went off in the store as we emptied back out into the street.
Thanks for the ride, Mister, she said graciously.
No problem at all, I replied.
The kid coughed like a lost dog wagging its tail.
I looked back at her and saw her smiling. I was about to, but got wise real quick — for once in my life.
Look, I’d love to give you a ride, but I’m going the other direction, and besides — I’ve got this Raging Bitch that I’ve got to deliver.
Ain’t that always the case? she answered in the form of question. Don’t worry, doll face. That’s what midnight is for, isn’t it?
It certainly is ~~~
Love, Uncertainty, Spanish wine, Belgian bier, and Piney Branch Beer & Wine.