maze of streets of uptown New Orleans, surrounded by shotgun houses settling into their final repose, their porches bedazzled in old Mardi Gras beads and sprung couches. The bar’s interior reflected its environment: a few tables and chairs against the back wall, a jukebox, ranks of stools against the bar. He often had the misfortune of minding the place when the roaches started feeling passionate. It happened a few times a year, and each time it paralyzed him with horror.
At the moment, his only customers were Alicia: a twenty-eight year old server at an oyster bar in the French Quarter, a long-time regular, and his best friend; and Jeffrey: her boyfriend of the moment, soon to be hustled into the ranks of the exes, if Will knew her at all. Jeffrey was one of those pretty boys with the hair and the lashes she liked, but he was not on her wavelength at all. Will gave him another month, tops.
“This place is disgusting,” Alicia said, watching the show from a somewhat safer distance.
“Don’t slam the bar, babe,” said Jeffrey. “It’s just bugs.”
“Fucking gross bugs who want to get busy on my bottle of Jameson.”
Will just nodded. It was, indeed, disgusting.
“You should get an exterminator, brother,” said Jeffrey. “Seriously.”
The same conversation every time. Just different faces. “Yup. Talk to the boss.”
“You know they say when you see one, there’s thousands more in the walls.”
“Oh yeah? Is that what they say?”
Alicia said, “Shut up, Jeffrey.”
“Make me.”
She pulled his face to hers and kissed him deeply. Apparently love was in the air at Rosie’s Bar that night. Jeffrey cupped the back of her head with one hand and let the other go sliding up her leg. He was a good boy. He knew what to do.
Will waited for the roach to relinquish its claim to the Jameson, then poured himself a shot. People from Louisiana liked to call the cockroach the official state bird; they were practically everywhere, and you couldn’t worry too much if you saw one. No matter how clean you kept your place, they were going to get in. But when you got something like this, you were infested. There must be a huge nest somewhere in the wall, or underneath the building. Maybe more than one. He didn’t think an exterminator would fix this problem. The whole wall needed to be torn out. Maybe the whole building would have to be burned down to the dark earth, and then you’d have to keep on burning, all the way down to their mother nests in Hell.
The roaches made little ticking noises as they scrambled about, and he had the brief, uncanny certainty that the noises would cohere into a kind of language if he listened carefully enough.
After a few more minutes, the bugs retired to their bedrooms, and the rows of bottles resumed their stately, lighted beauty. Jeffrey had his hand in Alicia’s shirt.
“That shirt comes off, and it’s free drinks all night,” Will said.
Jeffrey pulled away, his face flushed. Alicia smoothed her shirt and her hair. “You wish, child.”
“I really do.”
Alicia circled her finger over the bar. “Shots. Line ’em up. Maybe you’ll see something before the night is through.”
He doubted it, but he poured them anyway.
Like most 24-hour bars in New Orleans, the place did a decent business even on off nights. Most of the late night clientele was made up of service industry drones like Alicia and Jeffrey, or cab drivers, or prostitutes, or just the lonely losers of the world, sliding their rent dollar by dollar into the video poker machines lined up like totems against the back wall.
A few college kids filed in, finding a table some distance from the bar. After a moment one of them broke away and approached Will with an order for the table. Will cast his eye across the bunch: three girls and two guys, including the one placing the order. Almost certainly some of them were underage. College kids usually hit the Quarter for fun, but the Loyola campus was just a few
At the moment, his only customers were Alicia: a twenty-eight year old server at an oyster bar in the French Quarter, a long-time regular, and his best friend; and Jeffrey: her boyfriend of the moment, soon to be hustled into the ranks of the exes, if Will knew her at all. Jeffrey was one of those pretty boys with the hair and the lashes she liked, but he was not on her wavelength at all. Will gave him another month, tops.
“This place is disgusting,” Alicia said, watching the show from a somewhat safer distance.
“Don’t slam the bar, babe,” said Jeffrey. “It’s just bugs.”
“Fucking gross bugs who want to get busy on my bottle of Jameson.”
Will just nodded. It was, indeed, disgusting.
“You should get an exterminator, brother,” said Jeffrey. “Seriously.”
The same conversation every time. Just different faces. “Yup. Talk to the boss.”
“You know they say when you see one, there’s thousands more in the walls.”
“Oh yeah? Is that what they say?”
Alicia said, “Shut up, Jeffrey.”
“Make me.”
She pulled his face to hers and kissed him deeply. Apparently love was in the air at Rosie’s Bar that night. Jeffrey cupped the back of her head with one hand and let the other go sliding up her leg. He was a good boy. He knew what to do.
Will waited for the roach to relinquish its claim to the Jameson, then poured himself a shot. People from Louisiana liked to call the cockroach the official state bird; they were practically everywhere, and you couldn’t worry too much if you saw one. No matter how clean you kept your place, they were going to get in. But when you got something like this, you were infested. There must be a huge nest somewhere in the wall, or underneath the building. Maybe more than one. He didn’t think an exterminator would fix this problem. The whole wall needed to be torn out. Maybe the whole building would have to be burned down to the dark earth, and then you’d have to keep on burning, all the way down to their mother nests in Hell.
The roaches made little ticking noises as they scrambled about, and he had the brief, uncanny certainty that the noises would cohere into a kind of language if he listened carefully enough.
After a few more minutes, the bugs retired to their bedrooms, and the rows of bottles resumed their stately, lighted beauty. Jeffrey had his hand in Alicia’s shirt.
“That shirt comes off, and it’s free drinks all night,” Will said.
Jeffrey pulled away, his face flushed. Alicia smoothed her shirt and her hair. “You wish, child.”
“I really do.”
Alicia circled her finger over the bar. “Shots. Line ’em up. Maybe you’ll see something before the night is through.”
He doubted it, but he poured them anyway.
Like most 24-hour bars in New Orleans, the place did a decent business even on off nights. Most of the late night clientele was made up of service industry drones like Alicia and Jeffrey, or cab drivers, or prostitutes, or just the lonely losers of the world, sliding their rent dollar by dollar into the video poker machines lined up like totems against the back wall.
A few college kids filed in, finding a table some distance from the bar. After a moment one of them broke away and approached Will with an order for the table. Will cast his eye across the bunch: three girls and two guys, including the one placing the order. Almost certainly some of them were underage. College kids usually hit the Quarter for fun, but the Loyola campus was just a few
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