The old man walks in and looks at the many weeks' worth of dust on the formerly sparklingly polished bar, and almost weeps...

"Beertender, where in the heck are you? Why aren't you here, emceeing a TGIF party?"

His wan cry echoes without answer throughout the empty room.

Quietly, a neighborhood foot patrol policeman steps through the swinging door... but the door squeaks from inactivity, causing the old man to do a startled about-face; suddenly, the old man and the constable are nose to nose shocked speechless at the sight of each other.

The stunned old man was first to break the uneasy silence... "Where the heck is the Beertender?" he barked... "This place looks like it's been vacant for weeks!"

The policeman replied nasally: "I guess all the old regular customers quit dropping by, and the poor Beertender just gave up trying... someone said he just kinda faded away like the morning fog... "

The old man sharply replied: "Does anyone know where he is, or just how to get ahold of him? This place is the epitome of melancholic quietude."

"John Law" responded with a questioning look and his whiney voice: "Huh? What did you say?"

The old man was clearly becoming somewhat riled at the ineptitude of the nerdy policeman... "We need some flowing suds, salty snacks, a few hot chicks and some noisy music! The weekend is here... Fall classes begin Monday morning, and some of us around here need to get back into the swing of things!"

No sooner had the old man finished his spleen-splitting salvo, than the Beertender came sauntering in from the back door...

"I thought I heard that raspy voice" the Beertender complained... "So where in the heck have you been hiding? Without your paycheck crossing my bar, I couldn't even pay the electric bill, much less keep the place open! So get your lazy butt up on your stool, and I'll pour you a tall Diet Coke; I still have a bagga pretzels with your name on it."

The policeman was totally ignored by both the Beertender and the querulous old man. As soon as he could squeeze a word in edgewise, he whined "What about me? Can't I have a snack, too?"

The Beertender slowly sized up the policeman, eyeing him up and down. The cop's pants were clearly about an inch and a half too short, his shabby shoesoles were impregnated with detritus from the seedy sidewalks of his beat. The dorky "John Law" prominently displayed an advanced case of Dunlop's Disease. Then, the Beertender quietly said "Dunkin' Donuts is just a couple of blocks down the street... aren't they expecting you about now?"

Mr. Law took the not-so-subtle hint and oozed his way back out the swinging doors...

"Awright, you got rid of him. Now get to pouring my tall Diet Coke, and find a slice of lime for it, willya?" the old man barked. 'And get the right kind of pretzels next time. These are the brand I told you I didn't like!"

"You sure ain't changed much in these past few weeks, old man!" the Beertender said with a wry grin on his face... "So, where ya hidin' yer friends?"

"Hey! It's Five O'Clock somewhere..." came a shout from the babbling gaggle shoving their way in through the swinging front doors...

The old man tossed his answer to the wide-eyed Beertender "That answer yer question? Now refill my Diet Coke, and go easier on the ice this time."