Damon Hubbs


I lost my drinking hand.  
This kind of thing happens all the time.
People lose stuff.
Keys. Wallets. Virginity. Marriages. 
Houses. Doesn’t matter.

I thought I’d left it at the titty bar on the boardwalk
but when I called and asked about my drinking hand
Chris, the bartender, said he hadn’t seen it
but that he’d ask around. 
Bartenders are used to people losing stuff. 

It’s possible I left it at the liquor store. 
Jim, the owner, is a good guy, a bootstraps kind of guy. 
He’d put my drinking hand in the Lost & Found 
if I left it on the counter or dropped it by the cooler. 
If Liquors & Lottery had a Lost & Found. 

The name Liquors & Lottery suggests 
Jim hasn’t lost his sense of humor. 
But its blunt description does suggest he’s lost his creativity touch. 
Once that’s lost not even Chris, the bartender, can find it
no matter how much he asks around. 

Losing my drinking hand in such an unexpected way
reminds me of that story by Gogol in which a guy loses his nose. 
He spends the entire story looking for his nose 
and it eventually turns up in a cathedral and refuses to return to his face. 
Gogol never lost his creativity.  

I doubt my drinking hand is in a cathedral. 
It’s gonna’ turn up at that little titty bar on the boardwalk. 
It’s Amateur Night. My drinking hand is probably 
working its way up some pretty girl’s skirt right now.
I’m calling Chris back before I’m banned for life. 

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