There’s a Dave for everything.
The Rock Bar, what a dive, peeling paint on the door and Fat Dave still hasn’t fixed that smashed window. The place is dark and seedy but I love it, it’s where I first met the missus, God bless her.
Nothing much changes in The Rock Bar, same crappy fittings, same beer, same music. Although one thing is new, a Dave Grohl poster is up on the wall alongside the Floyd’s Dave Gilmour — quite an honor for the American upstart to be in such company, if only he knew he’d finally made it.
“Alright, Dave? The usual?”
“Yeah. Cheers, Dave.”
“How’s the little lady, Dave?”
Fat Dave always asks after Steffanie. He’s a bone idle slob but he’d stick his neck out anytime for my wife, she’s an angel in his eyes… and mine too of course.
“As air-brained as ever,” I tell him, which she is.
“Best barmaid I ever had,” Dave says. “You fixed that motor yet?”
Bit of a sore point there, one damn thing after another. New clutch, new diff’ and now a new alternator is needed. My bargain BMW is proving to be anything but. Continue reading