Nobody says much in Palmer Bar. Whatever you talked about when entering, you'll end up silent. It's a place to study the full effect of alcohol.
I'm sort of waiting for the bar to fill up, but the clientele is already there. Most are heavy set men with baseball caps and bewildered gazes. They're all sitting along the bar, wearing shirts and jackets of thick flannel. There's a pool table, but nobody's playing.
Around midnight it seems like some of the men are trying hard to be cheerful, but you can tell by their faces that loneliness and desire is a bottomless pit.
I look at Nina and wonder why it's always impossible for us to hold a conversation in a bar. Is it because we met in one?
I look at Nina and wonder why it's always impossible for us to hold a conversation in a bar. Is it because we met in one?
