A Proper Burial


By Steve Siciliano


You know how it is when you walk into one of those up north saloons and you're given the once over by a couple of the locals? Well, a few winters ago Harry Winston and I stopped by the Bear Creek Inn and the only guy who didn't bore a hole through us was wearing a Santa suit and he was passed out in one of the booths. After brushing aside the stares and stomping off our boots we sat down at the bar.

"What, did we suddenly turn invisible?" Harry said after a few minutes.

"Relax," I said. "She's busy talking to her boyfriend."

"What'll it be?" the bartender asked when she finally walked up to us.

"Long neck Blatz," Harry said.

"You?"

"The same."

"Glasses?"

"No glasses."

Harry pushed a twenty towards the bartender when she came back with the beers. "Both out of here. We'll take some peanuts too."

"Buck for the peanuts," the bartender said.