So, Old Jim called and asked if I was coming out to play- I had been home all day, and decided it would be nice to get out in the open air on the way to a dark bar. Jim said he had a late lunch at Willow for business purposes and was still there, and I told him I might see my way clear to shut down the computer and abandon the Great American Novel for the afternoon.

I strolled in as the place was just starting to wake up after the sleepy afternoon. Jim was under his earbuds, listening to music from long ago and far away. “Hey,” I said. “You ran for mayor of the District. What do you think about Mayor Gray getting beaten in the Democratic Primary?”

“In this town, the Dems have three-quarters of the registered voters. That makes the primary tantamount to getting elected. People are fed up.”

“But Muriel Bowser? No one knows anything about the winner. I never heard of her. ”

“Remember, I ran against Marion Barry. It doesn’t matter what you know. It is just the District.” We talked about the wild card in the race- David Catania, an energetic progressive member of the Council who is running as an independent, and whether the national party was going to shower money on an unknown.

“Beats the hell out of me. I wish I was running this year,” growled Jim.

Then we turned our attention to something that really matters: Opening Day for the Nationals at one on Friday against the Braves, who are in town for the weekend. Of course, this is all National League stuff, so who cares. Jim is a diehard Redsox fan, and my heart, for good or ill, belongs to the Tigers.

“There is a bunch of new stuff at Nationals Park,” I said. “WiFi so you can watch the game on your iPad. And new places to shop.” Jim just looked at with thinly veiled incredulity.

“I know, I know. Why would you watch the game on your tablet when you are actually sitting in the stadium, or go shopping at the seventh inning stretch.” I took a sip of white and watched the Fish & Wildlife crew trickle in when Jon-without sat down next to me and decided to drink what I was drinking- the Happy Hour White, my favorite loss-leader on the five 0’clock menu.

“You don’t normally drink wine,” I said. “What’s up?”

“I like to mix it up,” he said. “And I wanted to see what it was like to be you,” he responded. “I am going to keep up as an experiment.” I looked at him owlishly.

“I only drink the white because I hate it.”

“You hate it? That doesn’t make sense.”

“On the contrary,” I responded, taking a sip of the crisp sauvignon blanc. “The fact that I don’t care for it makes me drink less and the glass lasts longer.”

“But aren’t you supposed to enjoy it?” he slid his glass next to mine when I placed it down on the Willow coaster and leaned forward to calibrate the level of the golden wine. “Not equal,” he pronounced gravely.

“I can fix that,” I said, and splashed some of mine into his glass, which naturally hit the top of the rim and splashed on the bar. Boomer had to come over with a bar towel to wipe it up and admonished us to stop fooling around.

“That is alcohol abuse,” she said. “We won’t have that here.”

Old Jim waved his empty Long Neck Bud at her, not quite over the indignation that his usual happy hour stool had been occupied when he arrived for lunch. Boomer asked him if he had forgiven her yet, and Jim looked skeptical, apparently still making up his mind.

“I said I was sorry,” Boomer said contritely, and I thought it was impossible to stay mad at her for long, but Jim is stubborn, and the press of F&W people was crowding him from behind.

“Well….”

“Come on, Jim. Give the lady a break. It’s almost the Home Opener.”

“I will consider it.”

Boomer smiled and bustled off down the bar to see if she could find the remote that controls the televisions in their little cubicles above the bar. They are normally turned off, but when the new season is just starting, she might make an exception to policy.

Jon-without slid his glass next to mine, and I noticed he had pulled ahead, and was already more me than I was. I decided I was up to the challenge. There is a ballgame to get ready for.

Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra

www.vicsocotra.com

Twitter: @jayare303