It was a summer theater production
of Edward Bond’s The Sea.
Part of the repertory
of a rundown playhouse
in a small Connecticut town called Ivoryton.
McFay was playing Hatch, the draper.
Drinking in the bar after the dress rehearsal.
“Witches! Hussies!” he bellowed across the bar.
“Keep it down. I’ll put you out on your ear.”
said McMahon, the bartender.
“I’ll have you know, I was once someone
people bought tickets to see.” said McFay.
“Is that so? I was once someone
who got a lot of tickets
and had lots of people to see.” answered McMahon.
“How about another?”
“You’ve had enough, my friend.”
“All’s well that ends well.” said McFay, suddenly deflated.
“What do I owe you?”
“It’s on me.” said McMahon.
“You’re a gentleman and a scholar.”
“I’m neither.” said McMahon.