Still high on Demerol from a nasty seven-hour hospital interlude earlier that day. Hunched over the bar staring at the blue surface, those tacky painted palm trees. Swaying. Swaying in some Blue Hawaii breeze.
I saw him standing in front of me. He had the glassy look of love in his eye. No wait, that was the painkillers. He was humming and strumming a little tune. He winked and gave me some fresh pineapple and a spanking.
And then he drawled, smooth as Tupelo honey:
"Baby, I'm doin' alright. And I'll bet you are, too."
With that and one little wriggle of hip, he was gone.