It's SHOWTIME!

Last night I went to a newly-opened neighborhood bar that an acquaintance of mine just started bartending at. I met up with a friend of mine and her boyfriend at the back of the bar where they had free pool all night.

After bragging that my (now M.I.A.) uncle was ranked number 3 in the state of Florida, I promptly scratched every ball (TWSS) and failed to honor my name.

We kept trading off the table with a younger, neighborhood fellow (who some say looked like Jake Gyllenhaal) wearing a shirt that said, "Someone in Compton Loves Me" and an older gentleman who looked exactly like Martin Landau. (I couldn't remember his name at the time until I looked at my copy of Crimes and Misdemeanors at home. At the bar all I could think about was Walter Matthau). Martin Landau introduced himself as Jack. He seemed like a class act, a real prince - until the bar started giving out free kamikaze shots.

I'm not sure exactly what happened. Maybe it was the shot mixed with his chain smoking, the heat of the game, the mysterious wet spot on his T-shirt, wearing topsiders with no socks - I don't know. But, Jack lost it. He wanted to play teams, and he wanted me. Every shot he said, "It's showtime! SHOOTER!!" He played out of turn, he was solids AND stripes - he couldn't be stopped - until it was my turn to shoot. I scratched the ball AGAIN and he pounded his cue into the ground. Shooter was displeased. We lost the game to my friend and her boyfriend and then I overheard him telling the guy in the Compton shirt that it was my fault. "I woulda won if it wasn't for her."

After I left, apparently Shooter was accusing my bartender friend of stealing the money he was putting down on the bar. Even later, my friends went for a nightcap at a bar around the corner and Shooter was there still living it up. Shooter can't be slowed down, so don't even try.