As soon as I “shook hands” I could tell he was thirsty. He was a guy with a need for a cold beer, looking for a patron pup with an expense account.
(Pausing to scratch self)
I should have known right then that I was going to get nailed with the bar tab…and no reach around. The sign said “No Dogs Allowed”. He said (with an evil gleam in his eye) “But Pupster’s buying. No dogs, no tip.” The bartender had convenient amnesia.
The thing about Arlington is that the f’n streets don’t make any sense, and it’s pretty much impossible to find your way around. You need an inside contact. That’s why I called Harrison. He knew the score. Show me how to get to my hotel and I’ll buy you a beer. If it were only that simple.
One year to a human is like seven years to a Pupster, but the inverse is true when it comes to drinking beer. I guess no one told Harrison. I yelled,” You’re a cab” to his sobbing request. I’m not the freakin bellman. If you can’t run with the big dogs, stay home on the porch.