In response to it’s 4:00 somewhere, I have my own two cents for that because it’s happy hour somewhere as well. Small town happy hours are the best; they provide a unique camaraderie unlike big cities. I’m not sure what title to give this story. Small towns are what are really on my mind. I love them. I thrive on small towns. People know who you are.
I used to live in a very small town called Black Hawk, Colorado. Population 350. I lived and worked in a place called the Gilpin Hotel in exchange for rent. I was the “jack of all trades.” I honestly loved it. I made it from month to month on tabs around town. When I received my direct deposit check on the 3rd of each month, I’d religiously march right in to the market, and every bar where I ran a monthly tab and I’d pay all of them off.
But one day some dude came along and set the hotel on fire. It was a horrible crime of passion. The hotel was the locals gathering place for wining and dining and live music. And playing pool. It was also haunted. The Gilpin always had the best open mike nights around the Rockies. It was said that Lucy, the hotel ghost, loved to listen to the music. The musicians had even written a song about her. I played my guitar on stage, and that is how I quickly became so close to the local musicians and the other residents. After the hotel burned, emotions ran high when arson was discovered. It was a hot fire and it burned rapidly. It is believed that Lucy saved our lives. The light had been turned off in one of the bathrooms, but she turned it back on. Eventually, small stakes gaming came to town. It totally ruined the entire small town atmosphere that I so loved. Greed permeated the air.
I finally faced reality and realized that I had to go back to Denver, and tears filled my eyes as I drove down the canyon. I knew I had to find another small town. That said, I now live around Waikiki. The locals know your name here, too. There isn’t any gambling here, but greed nonetheless permeates the air between all of the high class resort hotels and shopping. I play pool at the local saloon, but not my guitar. I haven’t played my guitar since the hotel burned. Because my guitar burned, too. The guys who are always playing pool at the saloon have let me in their small “circle.”
I’ve met one ghost here who told me to leave (the apartment) but I said to him, “No, you leave. You’re dead but you just don’t know it. Go to the Light. Go to God.” I’ve also had other paranormal situations happen to me here.
And, it seems Hawaii is the only region in the country now that has the most comfortable weather—not too hot or too cold. Not too good for population control—maybe they should just turn the island upside down? I don’t do cold anymore, so if I contemplate returning to the mainland, all it takes is a weather report in Denver and that quickly discourages me. My best friend here is moving back there. She’s going to the desert in Arizona. And that deeply saddens me. I do research small towns on the Internet, though. Who knows, maybe I’ll be passing through another one someday …
