February 7, 2013 scottcjones 4Comments

Now that I had a place to live, the next logical step was to find gainful employment. I combed the want-ads in the morning paper, hoping to find a position as a bartender. I had some bartending experience under my belt—those two summers that I’d spend frowning behind the bar at the seafood restaurant while reading Russian novels and begrudgingly serving $1.25 drafts to old drunks. And I owned a copy of Mr. Boston’s Official Bartender’s & Party Guide, a small, crimson colored book that was bound in what appeared to be the hide of a defeated hellhound. The book…