7:53 minutes (1.81 MB)Today I had a few drinks with Kent, a homeless guy I’ve known for a while, at the Alahambra. The Alahambra is meant to resemble an on old western town bar, the kind you see Clint Eastwood gritting his teeth in in movies. They’ve got swinging wooden doors and a piano machine that plays old favorites like “Old River” and “Mountain Path” and “Don’t Drink the Water From the Old River by the Mountain Path”. The seats are designed to be exceptionally uncomfortable, just like the kind in the wild west and the place reeks like whisky and wood. It’s authentic all right. Today I’m feeling pretty good so I tell Kent I’ve raised his drink maximum from three to seven on account of I just got my pay check yesterday. Kent says some words that I can’t quite understand and then “thanks damnit,” and I smile at him and he smiles back. He smelled of booze before we got in the place and I suspect he is already hammered. Kent thinks he is a cowboy and that’s why I take him to the Alahambra. He’s wearing cowboy boots that he stole from a thrift store and a ripped button down shirt. Might as well get him pass out drunk I think to myself, it’s going to be cold tonight. After half an hour at the Alahambra I’ve had a couple beers and Kent has had four whiskey and soda’s. He is telling me a story about something that recently happened in his life, but he’s pausing and repeating himself and switching the tense so much I can barely follow him. “God damn kids right? So there’s the alley. They’re in the alley, they come up in and I’m there just sitting like cause I was just minding my business, right? So they came in, and they come took my hat.” “They took your hat?”