It's a Monday at Lonestar Saloon
It's a Monday at Lonestar Saloon
Summary: The beginning of the workweek and Joe meets Max.
Date: December 12, 2007
Related Logs: None

The Lonestar Saloon - Main Bar

The wood floor is scuffed smooth by decades of exposure to boot heels - and often littered with cigarette butts, peanut shells, spent matches and other debris. The four walls are vertical clapboard with red stucco above. Where a classier spot might have artwork on the walls, this joint has a collection of old WANTED posters, taxidermied trophies, and neon beer signs.

A long bar lines the far wall, attached to a small kitchen area with a pickup window between. The space between the door and the bar is filled with a motley assortment of old tables and rail-backed chairs. On the far right is a low stage for live performers to play from. Nearby stands an ancient Wurlitzer "Zodiac" jukebox with samplings of C&W, Rock and Heavy Metal. The left wall is open to an adjoining pool room, the space broken only by wooden columns to help bear the load of the upper floor. Near this is a wooden staircase.

Uniforms don't seem to be complicated for the staff here: The bartenders and waitresses are dressed in jeans and white Lonestar logo T-shirts.

It's a Monday night, the sparse number of patrons indication enough of said fact. A few tables are in use, while the bar is at about a quarter full, the gents scattered along its length. One such individual is Joe, standing belly up at the bar tween two stools. He leans with elbows resting in the top, a beer in one hand. Lost in thought it seems.

Monday nights one needs a drink, after the long day, to get over the loss of another weekend. It has sent one city dewller out for a drink, away from the lights. Max steps in from outside, heading for the bar with determination. He drops onto a stool, and orders when its his turn, straight beer from the tap it seems.

It so happens Max is but a barstool away from where Joe stands. Maybe it's the impetus to the young man's stride that draws Joe's attention, but he turns to Max and nods as he lifts the beer for a drink. The bottle replaced on the counter, Joe says, "You from these parts?"

Max glances at Joe, "Nahh, long ways from home." He sips on his beer and then shrugs, "But this place more like home than any place in town."

That draws a dry chuckle from Joe, eyes distracted as a couple gentlemen walk past. "I hear that. Been in 'Sin City' awhile now, and still feel an outsider. Strange as it sounds, this is closer to home."

Max shakes his head, "Its not that unusal. Vegas is a great place to there is being..entertaining, I guess." He chuckles and then downs a good portion of the mug, "In any case, its quieter here."

"Yeah, it is that too," nods Joe before he has another drink of his beer. Shifting his weight to the other hip, he asks, "So, where ya from?" A hand is extended, then, and he adds, "Name's Joe, Joe Diaz, by the way."

Max nods, "Nice to meet you Joe. I'm Maxwell Irvine, but everyone calls me Max." He takes another drink, then takes the hand and gives it a firm shake, his hand a little warm.

Joe smiles as he brings his hand back so he can lean his elbow again. "Yeah, you don't look from round here, but this is Vegas after all, and just about one a everything is here." The bottle is finished with a last swig, and Joe orders another. "I'm originally from up north. A little place called Ely. Quieter there too."

Max nods a little, "Texas originally, but been several places since then." He empties the beer and pushes the mug back, nodding when the tender gestures to him for a refill. He finally looks back over to you, "Can't say I have been there though."

"Not much to look at really," says Joe. "But it's home. Gotta have one a those. Makes it easier ta get around, as it were." Joe nods to the bartender when the bottle arrives, gives it the obligatory sip. "Texas, huh? So, ya just visitin'? Guess it's a great place visit when young an' all." He grins.

Max laughs, "Actually here for I will be around a while." He thinks a little, then shrugs, "Dunno about the home part. Seems that..they tend to be more with those around you than a specific place. Dunno about that young thing either..I have to work in the mornings, so the late nights take their toll."

Joe adds a shrug to his grin. "Well that all depends. Friends can become Family, but Family don't never become Friends. You're plum stuck with 'em. I find that kinda nice, if in a painful fashion. And as for work and play, let's just say recovery time with you young folk is measured in hours. For me, it's days and days." He chuckles for his admission, and wets his throat with a drink from the bottle. He expels a breath, and asks, "So, you got a job? Or you lookin'?"

Max hmms, then shrugs, "Point." He shakes his head, "Got one. Architect." He takes a drink of his beer, not being bashful, its good beer. "Sides, gas costs to much not to have work."

"Tell me about it," Joe groans after Max brings up the subject of gasoline. "I got me a '99 Explorer, and it is bitin' me in the ass somethin' fierce. I gotta get me one a them itty bitty things, like a Prius or one a those KIA things." He shakes his head, then sighs. "So, an architect? That must be an interestin' job. Gonna build a new casino?"

Max nods, "Jeep, and they don't get the greatest fuel milage either.." He then chuckles, "Aye, and your right on that too. Shipped in to build a new casino. Its been fun, I get to tour all of the others and play on the clients dime. He wants it to be..unique."

Joe's eyes widen at Max's remark, and he says, "Hell, I was just jokin'. You serious? What sorta 'unique we talkin' 'bout? Or," Joe grins, "would ya haveta kill me if ya told me?"

Max shrugs, "I don't know if they would kill you..but they don't want it to be like any other casino here in town. I think that is why they hired the firm I work for. We tend to work outside of the box a bit more than others. to how unique..well, I haven't quite figured that out..they have a lot of everything here..So I am thinking..more of visiting the past than trying for anything current."

"The past?" says Joe. That gives him pause for thought, and he nods then. "Interestin'. The past. I like that." Joe gulps down the last of the beer all at once, no doubt the burn to his throat must be palpable—though one wouldn't know it from his expression. He does let out a great sigh at least before he turns to Max, digging in his pockets. "Well, I got ta get goin'. Need ta get back to the bookstore. Hey, you ever need a book or information of a bookish nature come by Ely Bookstore over in Paradise, I'll give ya a discount."

Max grins, "Thanks, I'll remember that. When I figure out what to do, likely will be. Lots of research to make things authentic an all."

Joe pulls out a small wad of bills, and counts out a few, and places them on the counter, waving to the bartender afterward. Joe tips his hat to Max, saying, "Alright, Max. Pleasure meetin' ya. Take care now," He turns and heads for the door.

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