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Jerry's Bar
Andrew covered his face with his hands.
“I took pictures, aerial photography.”
I told him that didn’t sound so bad. He looked like he was about to cry.
“It was for oil, minerals, the rape of the land,” he said, and covered his face with his hands again.
Andrew got up to play the jukebox, and Jerry came over.
“How’s our secret agent,?” he said.
Jerry said the Foreign Legion stuff was dubious at best, but that Andrew really had gone to Vietnam.
“He was doing photography, aerial reconnaissance. The war fucked him up.”
We were talking about how Edison High had more casualties in ‘Nam than any school in the country when a skinny young guy came in with a pretty blonde in high-cut jean shorts. He was wearing nerdy-cool glasses, the kind with thick, black frames, a tight t-shirt that just covered the tattoos on his neck, and tan Hush Puppies.
Andrew told the kid he went to high school in Philadelphia the same way he had with me, and I wondered what the odds of that were in the new Northern Liberties–getting pretty slim, probably.
The kid looked puzzled.
“I went to Central Bucks West,” he said, and went back to watching the Sixers game.
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Peter Woodall sacrifices his liver, and potentially his nose as he ventures into Philly's drinking establishments. A bartender and West Philly native, he has worked as a newspaper reporter for the Sacramento Bee and Biloxi Sun Herald. Got a tip on a colorful taproom? Email him at petewoodall@gmail.com.
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