Coat Thief


I’m in a discreetly located tavern downtown with nothing but vacant office buildings for surroundings, admiring the dark oak walls lined with an elegantly rugged display of freshly polished, antique alcohol bottles: some burgundy, some crayon green and I see a few magenta. I’m in a Bukowski story. I could see Johnny Cash cruising through here, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips. He’d walk around in style just effortlessly being the coolest one in the place.

I walk past an old school country band placed center stage playing a melodic tune I hope I can download on iTunes. I make a mental note to ask the singer wearing the lipstick-red soda fountain, vintage cowgirl dress. This is the kind of band I picture playing at a honkey-tonk in Johns Creek, Georgia.

A small, select group of friends and I sit intimately close laughing, exchanging stories and enjoying the signature cocktail, “Dia de los Muertos,” a hot cider mixed with English whisky in miniature mason jars. The only light we have is from the cream candle set in the middle of our table, radiating a peppery scent.

I’m wearing my favorite coat tonight trying to be all cool in all black. My handsome friend wearing True Religion blue jeans, a goatee and boots, leans over to me and says I look like Alice from the children’s story, making me blush a little due to my deep admiration and possible obsession with the character.

I didn’t think the couple that just had to sit oddly close to us was weird. I mean, the last two seats in the place were camouflaged with the wall next to us. I didn’t think the man with the white spiky hair and black circles under his eyes was anything I should be concerned about. I didn’t even find it odd he moved my chair out of his way (the one with my coat on it) as he passed us and left —

— Along with my coat.

Alice can be reached at

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Tales of a Toluca Lake Actress

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