Change For A Dollar? Poem by Albert Ahearn

The only thing that exceeded the dinginess of this rat-hole bar was its stuffiness. I stopped in the place to make change for a parking meter just outside its door. God! It was awful in there, and I wondered, how in the hell the three inebriates sitting at the bar were able to breathe. I made a futile attempt to hold my breath, but the bartender knew his effort was a no-sell, took his grand old time getting to the cash register. I just couldn’t hold my breath any longer.
There was a very old *hit-kicker song lamenting about a lost love while the barflies were adding to the toxic atmosphere with their continual chain-smoking. Finally, the barkeep reached where I was standing and slammed the four quarters down on the bar with a loud bang, that it startled the sots into momentary soberness; but just as quickly, they lowered their heads and continued staring at the legal poison sitting in front of them.
I said thanks and turned to leave, but not before I was compelled to show my displeasure for his rudeness by asking him, “By the way, you wouldn’t know the average life expectancy of your patrons, the ones who frequent this rat hole, would you? ” Before he could reply, I was out the door.

Not all jackasses
Bray, nor do they have four legs;
Some are just blockheads.