"Weak in the Knees"

The TV over the bar was like a magic mirror, one showing a better bar than this one. "Weekends," sang the happy barflies, "are made for Michelob."

This weekend, James said wryly to himself, was made for Johnnie Walker Red.

"What was that?" Syl said while wiping down the bar.

"Nothing," James muttered. "Just...you know."

"Talking to your drink?"

"Yeah."

"I think you're done, Jimmy."

"I guess I am, Syl. I'm done with a lot of stuff."

James stood up and lazily saluted Syl. He stopped and stared...he found it curious that Syl was now horizontal, and yet it seemed like he was standing. And he was curiously out of focus as well.

"Stop that...!" James shouted just ahead of some very loud and very confusing noises.

James awoke to music. He hummed the tune: "Dah dah dah dahhh dah livin' the vido loco..." That can't be right. The tune was coming from his pocket. He pulled out the phone and found the numbers too blurry to read. He pressed a button and listened.

"Jimmy? Jimmy?"

"What?"

"Where are you?"

James had been wondering the same thing himself. He looked around. Vinyl seats, scenery moving outside.

"I'm in a car. A cab."

"Where's it headed?"

Another good question. He called out to the driver, who had a grizzled gray flatop. "Where we headed?"

"St. Francis," the driver said in a heavily accented grunt. Lithuanian?

"St. Francis' church," James said, feeling proud and then quickly horrified.

"Uh huh. Right," said the voice on the other end, who clearly, he knew now, Tracy.

"Right. You know what? Don't bother, Jimmy."

"Oh, Tracy..." James began...

"Oh, James ..." she said, and James waited a long time, phone pressed to his ear, head pressed to the vinyl seat in the back of the yellow cab, cockeyed bow tie brushing up against his neck, before he admitted to himself that the line was dead and she was gone. He closed his eyes.

"St. Francis'," the driver said.

"I'm not getting out."

"Where we going now?"

"Take me to the mall," James said. "I've got a tux to return."

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