Raymond: Epilogue

He staggered into the bar holding what she called his “monkey statue.” Well, maybe he wasn’t staggering on the outside, but on the inside he was still rocking back and forth. He walked toward the far end of the bar and put the statue down. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet as the bar tender walked over.

“What the hell?” he asked.

“What do you think?” he said.

“All I know is you and she help me pay my bills,” he said. “Are we going to be listening to George Jones all night?”

“Well maybe,” he said. “Maybe.”

“I hope it isn’t over for good,” the bar tender said.

“The words, ‘for good’ have nothing to do with this,” he said. “But yeah, I may have found the natural limit.”

He put a bunch of bills on the bar.

“You know we don’t allow animals in the bar,” the bar tender said.

“He’s not an animal,” he said. “He’s my business partner, and he needs a drink.”

The bar tender slid a pile of quarters, a basket of pull tabs, a pint of lager, and a two glasses of brown liquid toward him.

“I hate whiskey,” he said. “So that better be Southern Comfort.”

“Marry me next time,” the bar tender said, “Of course it is.”

“Well, a southern man don’t need you around any how,” he said, walking toward the jukebox.

He flipped through the selections until he found what he needed. As soon as it started to play he felt better.

He even laughed.