A Biography Of A Barfly

He was not a religious man, although he had his scruples. If one were to look at Bob they would say he was a hapless, helpless soul, perhaps even hopeless. Bob would never consider that those adjectives pertained to the nature of his personality and for good reason. He would often burden reluctant and uninterested patrons in philosophical ban, stemming purely from his desire to vindicate himself. He’d announce that religion was the last refuge of the hopeless, and since he wasn’t religious, he was not hopeless. The confused and sudden pupils of Bob, would either roll their eyes, laugh or simply ignore the man. Bob would also say that men design their own philosophies in an attempt to justify their own failures, therefore, the man who uttered the phrase “ it is better to have loved and lost, than never have loved at all” was merely frustrated at the daunting memory of his failed relationship, and would rather have never loved in the first place.
Its well known amongst the regulars in Bob’s haunt that he worked for over forty years for ABC news in the midst of the glamour and spectacle of post war Manhattan. He attended New York University for his Bachelors degree and furthered his education at Fordham University, where he received his Juris Degree. Bob was capable of quoting from obscure literature on a whim, however he rarely deviated from one of his favorite authors, John Ruskin (1). Bob would recite a few phrases for the benefit of himself whenever a good natured man with a fresh face walked through that place on a given night. He would glance up with startling alacrity when one would enter, glare at them with seething contempt and croak, “Blanched Sun, blighted grass, blinded man”. Bright futures and happy hours only begat sad tales of dead ends in dark rooms for Bob. His drink of choice was a Manhattan; only acceptable with 3 cherries, and based on Martel Bourbon. He would sit with minimal motion, hunched over in a frozen posture, with an ashtray to his left and his glass to the right. Bob was always dressed curiously presentable in a three piece suit blended with subtle pinstripes, finished off with polished boots and a freshly starched collar. On occasions he would read from the Daily News or fritter away the twilight on the crossword puzzle. In the stool near the window Bob sits and never misses a night, so they say. Its unknown what has reduced his life to its current state, nor would Bob ever say if you asked him. One thing is for certain though, there he sits in the solace of solitude for which his life depends, counting his friends amongst cigarette ends.

1. John Ruskin’s The Storm-Cloud of The Nineteenth Century, which was written during the Industrial Age and denounced of the devastation ushered in by the mechanical revolution in London.