Untitled - Campbell University

Halley’s Pub and a Pack of Reds
Justin Bradley
The chrome plated Zippo came into focus as reality battled fantasy to pull
me back into the musky, rambunctious room I had drifted out of. Glossed with polish,
the slick, redwood bar reflected a middle-aged drunk. A cloud of smoke floated
above the room, as neon lights colored the haze blue. Halfway through my eighth
light, the wooden door creaked open for the sixty-third person since I had slumped
onto my stool. The floor at least fifty years out of style, snapped and bowed under
each new intruder’s step. Weathered windows and smutty walls, adorned with James
Dean, made this place. Black leather bar stools hosted many, as home cooked food
and a sexy bar keep offered a type of comfort few things in this world could. I loved
this bar, this was Haley’s pub.
Located at the corner of Madison and Dover Street, a mile from Carver University,
Halley’s had become the central meeting place for college hoards and parties.
I hated the side of the bar they plagued. My spot, the lone seat in the corner, was
overrun with college frat boys. That, I also hated. I had attended to my spot for over
twenty-four years now. That seat was accompanied by many fond memories for me,
and there they were too wasted to even make a memory. This was my pub, they had
no right.
I snatched out my Marlboro Reds, a man’s cigarette, and hit another light. I
was trying to quit, but I was still breathing in more smoke than oxygen it seemed.
The pack fit snug in my flannel pocket. The red and white striped shirt had
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