थे नेवेर्स

There’s a place I know called “The Nevers”. When you order a beer, you say “Hey, I don’t want any goddamn beer.” Then, the bartender says, “Yeah? You’ll never get any goddamn beer. All we got is water.”

Then, he gives you a goddamn beer.

It’s a realm of opposites. Everytime a song plays on the jukebox, it spits out a token. Every time a woman says no, you’re going to be at her place later on, and she’ll be whispering it in your ear.

Everytime you walk in happy, you pretend to be sad.

Everytime you walk in sad, you pretend to be happy.

The Nevers is where you go when you want to be someone else.

I wear mime make-up. Some people think it’s a gay bar, but it’s not. It’s an everything you’re not bar. It’s where you go to say yes to gay men, only to know you don’t mean it, and you won’t really be going anywhere.

It’s where you go to break up with a woman, because she’ll be smiling the whole time.

There’s a fellow in the corner, and he never leaves. He plays the lute to himself all night long. You can’t hear it over the juke box unless you’re sitting right next to him. He says his name isn’t James. He says he’s going to go home right after this drink.

I think he owns the place.

He wears a ring, so I know he isn’t married. It fits, so I know he used to be.

And I think it all makes sense when you think about that.

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