Cock Tails- a sneak peek.

Cock Tails

1dive barFor a seaside college town, Newport was seemingly at first glance a ghost town. At this time of day, in late summer, there should be hordes of tourists and young people out and about.

The students were meandering in, most come in September to report for classes and practices.

Since they raised the bridge toll, and increased the local tax, the economy had taken a hit in the “tourist towns.”

People were not spending their hard earned cash. The locals were competing with the big boxes for whatever share of the take home pay they could muster.

It was about an hour to noontime, and no sign of the lunch time rush yet.

Her stomach told her it was time now.

She tried to recall what she ate last. She couldn’t remember — it wasn’t like she was eating three regular meals.

She was living, no surviving, on below a modest budget.

The food bank got her through the monthly income imbalance, but it wasn’t just her mouth that she was worrying about feeding.

The small red neon sign caught her eye. Richard’s.  A small red rooster below lit up the window. In its claws read OPEN.

It was a small local watering hole. Not a tourist kind of place, but not a complete dive either. They usually had the best food, and drink, at reasonable prices.

After managing restaurant chains, she swore to never again support corporate demons.

She  grabbed the worn brass handle and creaked open the heavy oak door.

The bar was relatively empty.

Pictures of local sports teams and signed jerseys hung over the bar.

There was an older man setting up tables.

A few regulars sat at the bar even though the bar didn’t technically open until 11:30 am.  It was pretty quiet for a Friday afternoon.

“What can I do for you, sweetheart?” The older man was suddenly at her elbow. “We don’t open until 11:30, but I can probably rustle up a cup of joe for you.”

He looked kindly at her. “You aren’t from around here, are you?” He smiled, handing her a menu. “You can sit at the bar, the waitress isn’t in yet.”

She nodded, and took a seat at the bar.

The regulars were complaining about the lack of summer tourists, and the new fishing laws.

She looked over the menu– basic pub fare.

She thought about the local farmer markets, and what was available in season.  A small place like this could do well with the lunch crowd.

“What’s good here?” she asked the big guy at the end of the bar. He laughed a hearty smokers laugh, and replied “Depends on who cooks it for you Doll.”

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About Mel Black Bynum

M. Bynum is a Writer, Muse and Visual Artist.

Posted on 03/29/2015, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

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