another Sunday morning at a bar for the despised
and all bars are for the despised on a Sunday morning
while others attend church
my mind does not wander
as much as most attending church
I play a game of religious scruples after my second beer
that silences the music blaring from the jukebox.
what is conscience?
outdated religious precepts learned in youth that haunt the adult present?
an obsession to be honest against all odds
hypocrisy since most people at church pray but then cheat on:
taxes
spouses
exams
work
after three beers I decide conscience is simply being an honest man.
a stranger with a pronounced stutter interrupts my search for truth
he taps me on the shoulder and points to a twenty on the floor
and asks,” Di-di-di di did you drop this?”
I decided after the third beer that my conscience is my guide
and do not want to hear him struggle with spasmodic repetitions
I tell the stranger I only came in with a ten spot.
“I-I-I know” says the stranger struggling harder to get the words out,
“I-I-I- pu –pu-pu-put it on the flo-flo-flo-floor to see if you are hon-
hon-hon-hon-honest. If not I was go-go-go-going to knock you on you-you
your…”
“ASS;” I yell. The word is ASS”.
when the stuttering stranger grabs me by the collar
I am placed in yet another moral dilemma this Sunday morning;
should I walk away or confront his dishonesty
I decide to show the stuttering stranger the power of truth
and knock him to the floor
I embrace existential thinking as I leave the bar:
”If a stuttering stranger falls off a stool in a deserted bar and no one
sees him hit the floor, Does he exist?”