typeracer

Harvey and I have things to do. We sit in bars, have a drink or two, play the jukebox. Very soon the faces of all the other people turn towards me, and they smile. They say, "We don't know your name, mister, but you're a very nice fellow." Harvey and I warm ourselves in these golden moments. We came as strangers; soon we have friends. They come over, they sit with us, they drink with us, they talk to us. They tell us about the great big terrible things they've done and the great big wonderful things they're going to do. Their hopes, their regrets. Their loves, their hates. All very large, because nobody ever brings anything small to a bar.