Eugene A. Nell
4 min readFeb 28, 2024

Hometown Tales #1

Closed in 2017 Hunter's Down Under
Lafayette, IN

It’s Now 6 AM

I’m from a small city and like most small cities we have a downtown.

Our downtown, while only a few blocks long, remains both vibrant and historic.

It’s almost the perfect union of both charm and character.

Church spirals,business storefront glass windows, a courthouse that encompasses an entire block

A vegan doughnut shop here, and a candy store there.

An early 1900s orange brick building, a few blocks removed from Main street concealing both a bank and a bar is where I arrive.

I step out of my car under a streetlamp, and walk into a back alley of old red cobblestone and worn out grey asphalt.

To my left, an awning covers a subterranean stairway welcomed patrons down a stairway with a canopy overhead.

Once inside, the walls are all adorned with mirror beer signs and there was a steady din of conversation, bottles and glasses clinking, and cigarette cherries igniting and fading with each inhale and exhale near the exit.

John Terhune 2017 Lafayette Journal & Courier

Hazy false promises proclaimed from deluded mouths choking back copious shot glasses of Jager from table to table.

Candid regulars held court at the front bar and espoused bullshit with a confidence that only a double bourbon/coke and a newly opened bar tab combination could render.....

Servers with full trays obliged academics from the nearby university, chugging away their student loan subsidies.

Then there's the romantic near-do-wells in search of
inspirational insight while immersed in a cheap beer buzz.

Even though I was in school, this was the tribe that I identified with best.

Those looking for anything to fuel inspiration and indulge the senses…

Anything, a subtle glance, a stronger cocktail, an act of spontaneous passion.

Like a kiss.

Not a simple peck or smooch.

While those pecks and smooches are both meaningful, they’re just another way to say hello and goodbye when it comes right down to it.

A hug with a bonus, you might say.

Nothing more.

A kiss that defies time and space, or at least your imagination.

She was there with me.

We didn’t know one another then as we would in the coming months.

Neither one of us knew what went on in each other’s lives, let alone what the ideas that ran through our individual mind

I was a self-proclaimed, self indulgent, reckless romantic on a trip to both nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

I lived for the Sweet,Sticky Now to which William Borroughs was referring

All exterior judgment was deliberately shoved to my periphery.

I was self-obsessed, though I wouldn’t admit to myself.

If my mind were a vehicle, Passion’s riding shotgun while Self destruction stood firmly on the gas pedal.

She smiled...

All that cool attitude shit left me immediately..

The guard (my ego) deserted its post..

No defense and no reason to defend.

She continued to smile..

It wasn't about me tonight.

She waxed poetic about her reasons for being a White Sox fan trapped in a sea of Chicago cub fans.

While I’ve never been much of a baseball fan,outside of collecting cards in my youth.
I was tonight.

Her words were exactly what I needed.

A sacred communion.

It felt good to be disarmed.

We had seen each other and chatted numerous times on prior occasions.

We both attended the same university...

I listened intently as we both engaged on a number of topics.

Thanks to all the jager-bombs we sucked down, I don’t recall all those other topics outside of baseball, but that’s not what this was about for either of us.

“Last call..!” exclaimed the bartender

It’s now 2:55 am

And somehow, some way, we navigated back up those subterranean stairs to the back of the establishment.

We stood in the parking lot beside my car..

I couldn't remove the smile from my face

Do you know how hard it is to kiss with to your face muscles locked, tensed?

Her dark swath of hair tickled my dimpled cheek as our heads turned in unison

We stopped.

We both smiled...

Not a word...

I’ve heard it said that there are good kissers and bad kissers….

Based on what?

To me, one’s ability as a good kisser falls is on subjective continuum.

It's different each time and every time.

The now comfortably was in both our control and the next well within our grasp.

And thats the state in which we remained for a couple hours.

The dark night sky had now given way to the early morning "chirping" of both robins and car tires racing to work....
Standing together in unison near parked cars in anticipation of what’s next....

It's now 6am.

Eugene A. Nell

Eugene A. Nell is the pen name of Barry McKinney, a writer of both creative non-fiction, prose poetry. He asserts the pen name allows him full creative license