MUFFIN STUFFER

Muffin Stuffer
he went by the name Muffin Stuffer
and he was the head doorman
at the Irish bar where I worked
and most times when a girl walked in
he’d check her out
then look at me
and with his eyes open very wide
he’d poke one of his fingers
into a hole he’d made with his other hand
and make a loud kissing sound.
hour after hour we sat in the entryway
checking IDs and staring at the walls.
Muffin Stuffer was capable
of only very brief verbal exchanges
and most times his words were unintelligible
often just grunts and snorts.
at the end of the night
we’d sweep and mop the floor
take our fifty bucks each
drink our shift drinks
and listen to the bartenders bitch
about this and that.
then, tired and mostly sober
we’d lock up the place
get into my car and drive down Route 1
and when Muffin Stuff felt the time was right
he’d say, “here” and I’d pull over
to the side of the road
where he would get out of the car
and run into the woods
without even saying goodbye