THE NEW FRONTIER BAR

The New Frontier Bar sits in the alley behind the downtown fire station. It's not a neat place. The joint stinks of beer and urine. But it has its amenities although air-conditioning isn't one of them. The drafts, though, are cheap and cold. You won't see anyone you know unless it's one of the real people.

Jack O'Connell and Mort Heinman drink in the dilapidated cantina. Some penitents prefer a confessional. Artist choose a more romantic escape. Both the confessional and cantina are dark places. Conversation is exchanged in low voices. Like a tip, the content is left at the table.

"I want to write in a more confessional style to unleash my energy," intimated O'Connell. "I've lost most my confidence that I can write anything more substantial. I have the title and the chapters for a novel. Now I need to write 250 pages as fast as possible and be done with it."

"Give me the outline."

"I want to plumb the depths of human degradation without our anti-hero succumbing to a crime. I want to create this character who surrenders everything in exchange for nothing. I need to express my own view about life's futility."

"Sounds like your usual existentialistic bullshit to me. What's the title for your latest expression of angst?"

"I'm calling it 'Siete Dias' and each chapter will be a day of the week. I'm beginning with 'Lunes' and ending with 'Domingo' in the tradition of the bible. If God could create this world in seven days, I certainly have the ability to pen a novel in seven days."

"What is the inspiration for this new endeavor?"

"My present circumstances and my need to write. It is a pattern I've followed in my previous novels. Chronology gives order to the chaos."

"Artistically, who are your role models?"

"The usual suspects: Henry Miller, Charles Bukowski and Albert Camus. I want to sit in my air-conditioned home in suburbia and pound out a sordid tale."

"You pay a steep price for your undertakings."

"I have no other options. I'm better at recreating than I am at imagining. As I've told you many times: Regardless of one's emotional distress over an event or a sequence of events, it gives you something to write about."

"You're basically a sick bastard. You know that?"

"I know, but my battle for sanity has made the difference. I pray I don't fuck up so close to the end."

"I thought you didn't believe in God?"

"I don't, but I believe in believing."

"Two  more?"

"Sure."