Joe's Birthday (observed)

        The man who came out to quiet us up had to be close to 400 pounds. He spoke in a loud and terrifying voice that was as serious as anything you've ever heard.
        "Look, you know I'm doing you a big favor by letting you be out here. I need you to chill out and KEEP IT FUCKING DOWN. This is the LAST FUCKING TIME I'm going to come out here. I've fucking had it. Just be quiet."
        "We can do that," Adam said.
        Rebecca leaned against the table when the guy went back inside. The crowd turned back to their individual crowds and yammered on quietly. "There's just something about it when someone says 'last fucking time'. It just doesn't agree with me."
        By the table behind us a girl had a Happy Birthday balloon tied around her wrist and was aimlessly talking on her cellphone. I did an exaggerated lean and smiled over. I said Hey, it's my birthday too, and when they failed to acknowledge me, I turned back to my compads.
        "Nobody believes a liar," Adam said.
        I grunted in the thin air. On the table that Rebecca was leaning on sat one and a half uneaten hotdogs, with the bun of a third , on a plate with a generous portion of unused ketchup smeared about. People muttered through blinds and the sound of clinking dishes, and a sink, fell on us. I thought maybe Rebecca was talking a little louder than she should. I get worried about these kinds of things. Adam was quiet, and I was being real careful, because you know about my voice and I thought it was a high possibility I was the cause of the large man coming through the door in the first place.
        "It is my birthday. It's my birthday, observed."
        Rebecca had an effective pause before saying, "Observed." We all stood there. "Right." I laughed. "So you're like up there with Lincoln now."
        "Anybody can have a birthday observed. Maybe that's why she didn't answer me. Maybe it's her birthday observed."
        Everything was too loud. Shit wasn't going to last long.

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        It was white hot and stung in the bathroom, and it could have been anything but especially, it was the ceiling. People I knew were coming and going and making some kind of judgment, most likely. I tried to stare in the mirror but there was no mirror and no paper towels and everything ceased to hurt like hell and I needed oxygen. It happens that fast. I could walk for a bit, in front of the others, leave them there by the back half of the bar. This was later, after the sandwich. In one lurch I made it to the start of the tables and spied a possible way out. I couldn't do it. Halfway there I grabbed the bar, said OK and went down.
        There was no way I could have been down more than ten seconds because nobody helped me up. Strange, no? I probably looked exasperated. But I got up and went outside and got my oxygen. I sat down and only had closed my eyes for a second when I heard the guy say We Got A Sleeper and I knew I wasn't going to be that so I forced my eyes open, because closed was spinning and open were great big horizons everywhere to see.
        I can't describe the feeling because I don't remember it, but I scooted down a bit from the bar, puked the few bites of sandwich up and felt better immediately. All rose up at once. I wanted a cigarette and a beer and and to fuck and pizza. I felt cool sweat all over the brim of my hat. Like the best feeling ever. It was cool, cool, everywhere. A sweaty, wet cool. Pizza was warm. I was not the only one. There, and only there, I could have gone on forever.