I ran into a Rock Bass a while ago. The following is a rough approximation of the ensuing conversation.
Me: Hey RB what’s going on.
RB: Oh, not much, been hanging out at the Old Sycamore Stump Tavern a bit.
Me: Oh, that place is pretty cool.
RB: Yeah, it’s comfortable in an “everybody knows your name” kind of way. When I walk through the door they start pouring my creamy stout as soon as they see me. By the time I have my seat at the bar its almost settled out and ready to go.
Me: They pour a pretty mean Creamy Stout.
RB: Did you know they sell more Creamy Stout than any one else in the state?
RB: Yeah that’s why its always so fresh and tasty, none of that stale, metallic, been sitting in the keg too long taste that you get at those other places.
Me: Yeah and it’s not too cold either.
RB: Yep, just right.
Me: I think the last time I saw you there, you had your lips all wrapped up with some blonde, right?
RB: Yeah, maybe.
Me: A nice slinky little Wooly Bugger, if I recall.
RB: Oh Yeah that one, she shook her tail just so, and i fell for her brand of sass in a Bluegrass minute.
Me: They have that way don’t they.
RB: Pretty much. I was mesmerized. It was like she had a hook in me. I fought her hard, but I just couldn’t shake her. And then the funniest thing happened. It was like the hand of God just reached down into my world and set me free. Just like that.
Me: Wow, you’re lucky.
RB: In more ways than one.
Me: Cool, well I gotta get going.
RB: Ok well, next time your over that way stop by for a Creamy Stout.
Me: Sounds good See ya.