"Back to Stephen's photo
show which continues at The Yellow Gallery... It's a small
but exciting show that is best characterized by the artists
own words..."
The kid stepped into the bar cause he'd
stayed at home too long and he couldn't get a job cause
there was a depression going on. Stepped in with a slap and
a halt and a gaze just like he'd seen in the movies only
here there's no one looking cept a beary eyed dame seeing
John Wayne and a son of a Sam looking for a friend.
Bartender looked up to make sure it weren't trouble, figured
it weren't and went back to his bullshit with the dame.
Typical scene but the kid don't know it cause he's young and
he sees the fantasies &emdash; the Sam's gonna tell him of
the storms of the Midwest and the nites down South and the
gold and the dame's gonna tell him of the brick house and
it's land and the warm fire and the sweet smell and the
bartender's gonna give him a whiskey in a glass which he
does, after checking the kid's I.D.
Kid's at the machines doing serious
business working on four like the three were just par
standing firm his body pulling working the ball toward the 5
and makes it, the 5 to make it four and 120 games and a
smile of delite for a nite of working the ball and drinking
the beer and being in the bar and he feels good. Oh he knows
it ain't much, could push it off 20 at a whack, in six games
flat but feeling good cause the crew's catching on to 120
tings from the corner of the room and Sally's looking at
him, smiling, letting him know what a gorgeous hunk of shit
he is and even the pool tables are glancing over at the
percussion of his machine.
Sally's sitting under the clock gazing
at her cigarette her head softly rocking she slowly sings
the tune of her dream and the kid's looking, looking at her
lashes then looking at her eyes, Sally smiles. The kid's
heart beats blood for Sally, has for a week, and his lips
say You to her, Sally smiles. There's a barstool between
them, there was, the kid looks at the barkeep and points to
her drink, turns to her thigh her curves and her deep and at
her eyes, Sally smiles. He tells her of the past and the
struggle and of death and he lets her know he's brave and he
lets her know he endures and she lays her hand cross his and
he squeezes her thumb, Sally smiles.
Beanie Berliner don't like nobody much
for long cause he knows what they's thinking and he's right.
Nobody much is thinking Beanie Berliner oughta take up less
space and Beanie Berliner is thinking nobody much oughta get
outta his godamn way and this is a stalemate situation which
is a type which don't last. Now the kid, who was actually
nobody much sunk the eight rite after the three and the five
in a form with a flow that impressed him self so was bold
when he strode to the bar next to Beanie Berliner whom he
had not seen there snarling and glooming apart from the rest
who observed his pitched fury and wondered, no the kid had
not seen this when he marched to the bar and said Beer! to
the barkeep and turned to see Beanie Berliner with his red
eyes and bulled nostrils and clenched arms. The kid would've
fainted rite to the floor if Beanie Berliner's fist hadn't
put him there first.
He don't feel the fingers poking his
shoulder or even the arms shaking his body, he assumes
someone bumped his barstool. I mean shit! so Sally's split
for L.A. and he's sweeping floors for his drinks it sure
beats working he thinks as he raises head to see what the
hell the ruckus it. 'Christ man your cigarette!' some slick
dude with a trimmed mustache is screaming and pointing to
the kids yellow burning fingers. 'Thanks' he mutters spreads
his fingers drops the ember draws another from his pack.
'Christ' mutter the slick dude he and his friend shaking
their heads in scorn and pity walking to the door, the kid
seeing their faces of contempt as they leave. He drops the
crumpled pack to the floor and signals the barkeep for
another.
tourists.
Stephen Agetsatein
(Laid out here as he wrote it and as Kim
Gale printed it up in his paper, The Valley Voice, in Forest
Knolls, May 23, 1975 and being how Steve characterized his
photographs I was featuring just down the road in Woodacre
at The Yellow Gallery in our first show: Twelve From The
Bar. P.B. 1.25.01)
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