A pirate looks at forty.

We would close the bar at 2am on Saturdays.  LT would clean the bar, I would count the money and the Cue Ball would already be down in the pool hall, having been relieved of his work several hours ago, stealing beers and cigars and preparing for our weekly 9-ball extravaganza.

I was always the last one to hit the tables having to lock up and make sure all was okay.  Our hand-crafted steel blue 9-foot slate pocket billiards tables would all be covered in darkness except for the one closest to the door, closest to the bar and closest to the juke box.  That was always the one Cue Ball chose.  He was the best player of the three of us but he was always a bit loaded by the time we got to playing so as to even the odds dramatically.

The funny thing is, the first song LT always played on that old neon pink and purple juke box was 'A Pirate Looks at Forty' by Jimmy Buffet.  We would play until 5 or 6am.  We would lose hundreds of dollars to each other and win hundreds of dollars from each other.  Beers.  Steely Dan.  Bourbon.  Van Morrison.  Cigars.  The sun always came up.  The cleaning crew and prep cooks showed up to prep the place for Sunday and we would leave.  Time to sleep.

Now, every time I hear that song, the first thought is of those pool games in the middle of the night at the bar.  We all worked hard there.  Overtime every day, every week.  But, when we were done we always wanted to stay and play.  Just a little longer.

I made enough money to buy Miami but I pissed it away too fast.

That was over a decade ago.  Now I look at forty.  It all seems so long ago.

The cannons don't thunder, there's nothing to plunder.

Time passes.