Cecil on the Dock of the Bay
It was a warm San Franciscan night. It was late summer and the days were long. The sun had just set as Cecil T Wulf drove up and down the rolling hills of San Francisco in his trusty 69’ Lincoln Continental. He had the pleasure of traveling to the city many times throughout his career as an IT consultant.
The day had been a long, but lucrative. This city really took him back. This town had it all, business men, artist, blue collar folks billionaires, you name it. As much as the city had changed over the years, he still felt a certain sense of freedom every time he visited.
He’d been all around the world and back, and perhaps he’d settle here when there was no place left to go. But that was neither here nor there, Cecil didn’t look a day over 50 still had plenty of people to meet and places to be.
He felt at ease as made his way up Van Ness Avenue to the famous House of Prime Rib. House of Prime Rib joint was the best place on earth for prime rib and a stiff drink. The only way to get anything better would involve time travel. As the night took over a slow cool fog creeped over the city. Cecil rolled down the windows and felt the cool air kiss his face.
Cecil parked and walked up to House of Prime Rib. He entered he noticed that the décor of the place was the same as it had always been. Quality never goes out of style. It was a place people could get used to, and they did. The place wasn’t too crowded.
He walked to the back where the bar was and pulled up a chair. The bar tender greeted him right away.
“It’s my favorite consultant! How have you been old friend?”
“Never better Gus…good to see some things never change. Can you whip me up a Martini?
“I was just about to ask you if I could,” Gus replied.
Watching Gus make a Martini was a thing of beauty. Gus expertly mixed up some vodka, vermouth, and brine into a mixing glass with some black olives. He then strained it into a glass and served it to Cecil.
Cecil sat back and watched the people filter in and out of the bar area. He noticed a bearded man wearing a Vietnam veterans t-shirt under his jacket. Who’s that gus? I thought this place had a dress code?
“We relax the rules for regulars. That’s Charlie, he’s been coming here for years. He’s a vet.”
Charlie looked like he had some health problems. His nose was full of broken blood vessels, and he carried a cane. When Charlie got up for a moment, Cecil saw that he had swollen ankles. Cecil could tell Charlie was on his last leg. Who knew what kind of horrors he’d seen, or how much longer he could keep living the way he did. Cecil mused on what would become of him, perhaps he could go on for years living off his social security, and drinking his days away. Many people did.
