Author: Phyllis Coates

“Hey,” I was told, “there’s a great new bar in town—ya gotta go check it out.” The source, a well-known political player whose observations always come heavily seasoned with interlocking, multisyllabic profanities, chuckled perversely. “It’s the Red, White and Fucking Blue Bar.” “The Red White and Blue Bar?” I queried. “What is it? Some kind…

On a recent sultry afternoon, three of us bellied up to the cool oak bar at one of our favorite hangouts and engaged in two age-old writers’ past-times, tall drinks and short stories. For the next few hours the air grew thick with bold-faced names and barbed commentary, and while the bartender kept the booze…