Confetti

Artist: Robert Fromberg

I sit next to an unoccupied stool in front of which is a half-full pitcher of beer. Light sneaks in through distant windows. The bar surface looks like confetti sunk miles deep in a black pool. I receive my beer in a clear plastic cup. A young man sits in front of the half-empty pitcher. He turns his whole body to face me and shakes his head. “I just never expected to see anyone like you in here.”

He rests his head on the bar.

When he lifts his head, he continues. “I’m from Kuwait. I’m a truck driver. I’m only 23. Have you ever been to Kuwait?”

“No.”

“If you move there, you’ll make a lot more money than you make here.” He gestures toward the pitcher of beer. “This is my second, and I’m not going to be able to finish it, if you want some.”

He turns to the bartender, a thin young woman. “What’s that design on your leggings?”

“It’s from a band.”

“What band?”

“The Misfits.”

“I don’t know them. Do you like rap music?”

“No,” she says, “I like Bob Dylan and the Velvet Underground.”

“I’ve never heard of them.”

“They’re old,” she said. “I guess I’m an old soul.”