Max, Part 7 - Max stared into the mug before him. He could take or leave the stuff. Seated next to him

was one of the guys in his crew.  Across the bar, the other guy, Birthday Boy, was trying to make time with some woman who didn't appear interested.   The place was run down, and probably, unintentionally  had the decor of the mid to late 1990s - including a pre-plasma video screen, that took up almost the entire corner of the bar; of course, where the quarter slot had been, was updated to accept credit.  Max glanced over at birthday boy; he didn't have a clue, obviously - the girl was looking alright, but not for a fella to buy her a drink, shoot the breeze, do a two-step to a country song, and maybe down the road...this wasn't the 1990s.

A few seats away, an old veteran - probably from the VietNam war, he looked ancient - was peeling a small game of chance ticket.  Several other slips of paper lay nearby his whiskey glass, from which he took a drink.  He declined wanting to buy any more.  Several minutes passed, he finished his drink, left some bills on the bar and opened the door to the darkening sky.  A moment or so later, as another group entered the vintage bar, from outside came the sound of a truck pulling out, on its last legs.  Max didn't know the old guy, but had seen him here and there, in that old pickup.

Birthday Boy was now seated, and drinking - like many of the other younger patrons - some sort of eerie green potion sort of thing...ugh, didn't even look drinkable, and certainly not 90s.  The person seated beside birthday, and trying to strike up a - what passes for - conversation... a he? a she?  One could only guess.

One thing for sure, Max wasn't interested in making time with anyone - period.  Besides not having the time - business was real good, he had no desire to waste any of it on people who either didn't know who they were, nor cared to find out.  In short, so much weirdness - everywhere.  And getting weirder.   As for that old latimore temperance woman - who had been quietly passing out literature during the previous farmers' fair - evidently she didn't get to town much.  But she, in her somber gray dress and ugly-shoes, knew who she was.