In a nondescript bar not far from Capitol Hill ceiling fans were blowing away the last few days of August.
The nondescript bartender had been polishing the same glass for 20 minutes. Convinced he had removed any spots and a few layers of history he placed the glass on a shelf and sighed. He was somewhat depressed that he was wasting energy displaying his professionalism to an empty bar. He picked up another glass in hopes it would trigger some patronage.
Hell, he’d welcome a stray lobbyist if it broke up the monotony.
What he really could use was a visit from Mr. Panama or The Bearded One but they had not made their shadowy presence known at the bar since “The night of The Pompadour.”
He shivered at the thought.
The front door opened blasting away his chills with warm rays of sunshine.
“Your rang,” asked the silhouette of Mr. Panama in the door frame.
“Not really, but I was wondering what you have been up to.”
“Trying to lie low since the night of the Pompadour.”
“I know the feeling. I can’t sleep because of it.”
“Really, That disturbing?”
“I keep having these dreams about that hair coming to life and taking over the country. It’s a bit like that movie The Blob.”
“In a way that kind of came true.”
“Yea, and there’s no Steve McQueen to save the day. That’s why I’m scared to fall asleep. I’m wondering what it’s going to do next.“
“And it has a twitter account. Don’t forget that.”
“Thanks, got any Ambien?”
“None to spare. I need all the help I can get.”
Mr. Panama took a seat at his usual table and ordered a beer.
“Have you seen the Bearded One lately,” asked Mr. Panama.
“No, the both of you pulled a disappearing act.”
The front door opened casting a shadow of the Bearded One across the floor.
“You rang,” he asked.
“How do you guys do that,” asked the bartender.
“Do what,” replied Mr. Panama and the Bearded One in unison.
“Never mind. So where have you two been?
I haven’t seen you around here in months.”
“Lying low trying to disassociate myself from The Pompadour,” replied Mr Panama.
“I followed suit,” said The Bearded One.
“What’s going on with the Penny Cabal,” asked the bartender.
“The what,” replied the Bearded One.
“You know the conspiracy to keep the penny in circulation.”
“Oh, that,” replied Mr. Panama. It no longer amuses me.”
“Amuse you?” exclaimed the bartender.
“It’s not longer fun for me either,” said the Bearded One.
“The Pompadour has turned the conspiracy into something pedestrian,” injected Mr. Panama.
“Yes,the thrill has gone,” added the Bearded One.
“So it was just amusement for you two. There was no real effort to keep the penny in circulation,” asked the bartender.
“Nothing we were involved in,” replied Mr Panama.
“No one cares about the penny,” added The Bearded One.
“You could have told me,” said the Bartender.
“And ruin the fun?” replied The Bearded One.
“So now what I do for amusement” asked The Bartender.
“Get a life,” replied Mr. Panama.
Truer words have not been said, thought the bartender.
