"Bullshit. That's plain and simple bullshit," the old man said.
Then he finished his beer in a disgusted gulp.
"Another one, Hank?" the bartender asked.
"Sure, sure, Shirley," he said.
Hank turned to me and said, "listen - don't think you can come in flappin' about some bullshit scheme, and then expect me to jump off this barstool to kiss your ass. You're nothing but a pencil-dicked little puke."
"Ah Hank, give the kid a break."
"Thanks Shirley, but he's probably right. It was a stupid idea," I said.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, while Shirley wiped the end of the bar with her dirty rag.
"Say Hank," I started. "What do you do all day? Do you work?"
"Shit…I ain't had steady work since, uh, well it's been at least…I'd have to guess…" and then he trailed off, visibly trying to remember.
"I can't remember when I collected a check each week. It's been a while. Now, all I do is come in here and let Shirley look at me," he finally said.
"Yeah Hank, you're a real sore sight for my eyes!" Shirley said from the end of the bar.
"So when you used to work, what did you do?" I asked.
"I worked for the rodeo," he said. "Over 20 years and I still got most of my teeth."
"The rodeo? Wow!" I said. "What did you do, ride?"
"Yeah, tell him, Mr. Rodeo," Shirley laughed.
"I was known as the Great Distracter," he said, smiling now.
"Me and another fella would jump in when a rider got himself into trouble - you know, with a bull or something, and we'd try to get the attention of the animal long enough for the rider to get himself up. Only thing was that nobody ever jumped in to save our asses."
"You mean you were a rodeo clown?" I asked.
"We didn't do any clowning, kid," he said.