Pictures of people drinking hung from the walls. In some of the pictures people were holding filled beer mugs --- frozen apparitions, a humorous moment or two. One picture was unevenly tilted. It was reddish-brown, as if the moment had been sketched with a cinnamon stick. In it three young men sat near the bar arms wrapped around each other. In the background other men waved and smiled, bunched into each other, admiring the backs of the heads of the three up front. One of the young men stood crooked and his smile was like a frozen tensed muscle; he was shorter than the other two.

The shadows of the ceiling fans hovered across the room. All the tables were unoccupied, except for the one that was farthest away from the bar. It was a dry day and the smell of sawdust filtered through. Three men sat semi-circled, facing the door.

"I tell you guys, I'm scared. Nothing like this has happened to me before," said the man with the jet black baseball hat. It was dirty but most of the dust had collected on the front over an American flag and the words Desert Storm. He slurred when he spoke and sweat dripped down his temples. His white cotton shirt was dirty and the dark coloring of his nipples showed through.

"C'mon Bobby. It don't mean shit. Stop being such a fucken wuss," said Edwin.

Bobby removed his hat and placed it on the table next to Edwin's drink and he said, "Look at my hat. You call me a wuss, but look at it. Look at it."

Edwin turned his head slightly to the right for a better view. As he did this, his double chin slushed to the right of his neck. Beer stained his black T-shirt and the red letters that when new had read ESTOY EN PUERTO RICO. Now it read EST UERTO. He said, "So you got some bird shit on the rear of your hat. That don't mean shit either. Birds dump on me and everyone else all the damn time." Edwin rolled his head to the left. Facing the other man, he continued, "Tell him Eli. Tell him what a big wuss he's being."

Eli sat straight with one closed fist. He said, "You're being a wuss."

"No I'm not. Edwin is just being pig headed," he said glancing at Edwin. "Edwin, you're being pig headed."

"Bobby, you're just a fucken fool." Edwin paused to drink. "Scared of some bird shit."

"I'm telling you man," Bobby said pointing to the stain on the hat, "this is crow shit."

"How is it different? Wait, wait, forget I asked."

The side door opened and a man walked through. His hair hung down to his shoulders and his silver-framed glasses perched at the tip of his nose. He walked unevenly and was shorter than everyone else. Edwin continued, "Ask Ralph. He'll tell you, he'll agree with me." Edwin waved Ralph over to them. He said, "Come here. I know you're busy, but just come over and humor Bobby for a second."

"¿Que pasa muchachos? You want more drink?" Ralph said.

"Sounds good to me. Hey, listen, Bobby is stressing over some bird shit."

Once again pointing to his hat, Bobby said, "It's not bird shit. It's crow shit, crow shit!"

Ralph looked to the entrance. Turning back, he said, "Look guys, I don't have time to play with you. I'll get Tiffany to bring another pitcher and maybe later we'll talk, okay?" He looked to the side door he had entered from. "Tiffany, I need you." He paused, "Out here."

She walked in. Her black hair streamed to her waist, camouflaging most of her blouse. She placed her hand on Edwin's shoulder and said, "I suppose you boys ran out of what I gave you before."

Edwin responded, "What can I say? We love to drink."

"Specially when it's free," she said as she walked to the bar and filled the pitcher. Ralph got close to her and whispered, "Don't be that way."

"Why not? They just leech off of you." She walked over and placed the pitcher on the table. "Here you are, fellas."

Edwin was the first to grab the pitcher. "Gracias."

Bobby reached to grab Tiffany's arm. "I've got crow shit on my hat."

"Okay." She said this lightly tapping Bobby’s back. "Really, I’m sure you're lucky. It'll be okay."

"You don't understand. They hate me."

"The crows?"

"Yes, they want to kill me."

"Bobby, crows don't want to kill you."

"As of two days ago they do. They really hate me."

"Why would some birds want to kill you?"

"Because I killed one of them." He looked to the others, "With my car. I ran over a crow with my truck."

Edwin began to laugh, then he said, "Now it all makes sense. You ran over a crow with your truck so now they're out to get you. Forget what I said earlier. You're not a wuss. You're a fucken crazy sonavabitch!"

"No, no, I'm not crazy. I'm just in trouble." Pouring beer into his mug, Bobby continued, "Big trouble."

"Bobby, you're something else," said Tiffany. She began to walk towards the bar.

The three men remained at their seats as Ralph and Tiffany walked to and fro tending to the needs of the paying customers. Tiffany shouted, "Last call."

Eli was reclining on his chair looking to the ceiling. Bobby's head was on the table. He was asleep. Edwin stood up and walked around the table to stand over Bobby. He leaned and quickly began to shake the table yelling, "The crows, the crows. We're here to get you, Bobby!"

The frightened man shook off his seat and fell to the floor. Half asleep he stood up and tried to run. He ran into the wall and the tilted frame fell to the floor and shattered. Eli laughed loudly.

The room remained silent as they walked away from the rumbling corner towards the door. Bobby attempted to get up. The broken glass crunched under his shoes. The other two's laughter diminished.

Tiffany whispered to Ralph, "There they go again. I'm telling you, every night, if it's not one thing, it's another!"

Ralph walked over to the isolated table and said, "Okay, Ya se acabo la noche."

Eli helped Bobby up. As he held the trembling Bobby he opened his right hand. He had no thumb. Edwin said, "Todavia no, un poco mas."

Ralph told him, "It's time to go."

"We're not ready to go!" Edwin’s voice was louder than before.

"Every night we go through this. Show some respect," said Ralph.

Raising his voice so that the people at the door could hear, Edwin said, "Respect? How's about showing us respect?"

"I do, as much as I show everyone else."

"As everyone else? I deserve more than that! I could teach you plenty lessons about respect, this place, these streets! All of you!" Edwin stood straight but could not hold his balance. He tilted slightly. "I got history in my head!"

From behind, Tiffany's voice echoed, "History doesn't pay the tab."

Edwin turned to face her. "¿Que?"

"I said history doesn't pay the tab. And it won't clean up your mess."

Edwin stood silent. Eli could hear the others whispering within the crowd as they exited. "Let's go."

"No, Eli. No."

Eli stared at Edwin, they stood silent for a few seconds. Edwin began to walk towards the broken glass but Ralph held him back saying, "It's okay. I'll clean it up this time."

Edwin looked at Ralph. Staring through the lenses Edwin said, "Our world is worth fighting for."

"I know."

Soon the room was empty. Ralph began to clean up the broken glass. Tiffany walked over to help. She said, "I'm sorry I got involved. But if you let them they'll wreck the place. You know that."

"They won't wreck the place."

"I don't know what it is between you and those guys. One day you might even let them get away with murder."

Ralph froze for a few seconds. Without moving he said, "Not murder."

"You're not their father. They aren't your responsibility."

He moved the glass with a small piece of cardboard. He said, "They're no one's responsibility."

"And you're the owner."

"Just leave it be." He said this on his knees as he looked to the pictures on the wall. "You go ahead. I'll finish up in here."

He placed the broken glass in a trash can behind the bar. He opened a cupboard and took out an old crumbling picture. In it a young man in camouflage with wire glasses stood surrounded by a jungle. Thick vines swelled among themselves. The young man was not smiling. One of his legs was bandaged and veins swelled from his neck. He stood in front of a dark green tent with a crimson cross. An arm hung out from underneath the tent's corner. Ralph placed the picture back in the cupboard and closed it.

The night was calm and the jingling of Ralph's keys echoed as he closed the door to the bar. He walked over to an old green Chevy truck. He opened the door and from the glove compartment took out a pack of cigarettes. He shut the door and leaned against it. He placed a cigarette in his mouth and from his rear pocket he withdrew matches and lit it. He blew smoke from his nose and mouth. Staring through the fumes he remained there ... waiting for the crows.