This week’s words:Guttersnipe (Noun. A ) Chorus Birdcage Spectral Late Break Dusk Serve Crow’s mile (The walk of the condemned to the place of his execution.) Button Brawl Inertia
There was a certain irony in Tommy Guttersnipe frequenting the Crow’s Mile tavern each Saturday afternoon. Tommy wasn’t the most celebrated customer at the Crow’s Mile as its regular patrons came to understand that by the time dusk descended on the Crow’s Mile Tommy would have had a few too many and invariably a brawl would occur.
It is fair to say it wasn’t always Tommy’s fault. The Crow’s Mile was set up in such a way that at one end there was a large screen TV with whatever football game was on and at the other end another big screen TV with the Saturday afternoon races to be bet on.
Tommy had the misfortune to have the most spectral like face you could imagine. It did help when he played poker but in every day activities is was more liability than asset. His face could frighten you when he suddenly appeared at your elbow demanding you buy him a beer.
Around him at this stage of the day there would be a chorus of voices calling on the bartender to stop serving Tommy or eject him as he had the unfortunate knack of pressing the buttons of far too many patrons especially late in the day when they needed a break from anything that might cause tension as many had blown there pocket money on either the football or the races and wanted to be left alone to think of a suitable excuse for when they got home.
Tommy would retire to a far corner where a stuffed crow sat in an old birdcage and there Tommy would regale the bird with the story of the inertia that was his life. The bird listened and never answered back, never called for him to be ejected and mostly appeared sympathetic to Tommy Guttersnipe’s miserable life.
By closing time Tommy was a crying drunk and would stagger out the door of the Crow’s Mile and with the help of a patron or two he’d be pointed in the direction of his house. Tommy with his face looking more spectral than ever, would wander towards his house singing the chorus of whatever the last song playing in the Crow’s Mile was, taking only a break long enough to draw breath.
When he reached his house, late into the night, and opened the door of his run down hovel, the community breathed a sigh of relief.