Knuckleheads is in an old part of town near the riverfront, next to the old train yard. There were rows of tiny little wooden houses with rusting fences and crumbling porches in the neighborhood that surrounds the place, then the huge train yard with its abandoned freight cars and now silent old trains. I imagined this was a booming little neighborhood once where this bar was where everyone came after work was done.

 
There were no streetlights there, in that forgotten little aged neighborhood and for a while the only light we saw was from the moon and the highway overpass that eventually took the traffic and the people away. When I thought we were lost, there finally appeared a flashing red and white light- a partially burned out neon arrow that constantly moved, showing the way to the door and welcoming all who sought enlightenment.

The building was old…used to be a bunk house for the railroad workers so they added on a few sections at a time to make the bar. Once we were closer I realized it was actually more a collection of ramshackle buildings tacked together with wood and sheet metal and I noticed it seemed to be leaning more than a little toward the west.
Inside it was crowded and damp with the night air. The ceilings were low, covered with black plastic that likely kept the rain from leaking in and the smoke from getting out. The music was loud but good and bluesy with the crowd dancing, cheering and drinking. They were an odd mix of bikers, blue collar workers in dirty flannel shirts and yuppies in $800 leather jackets, all who came to hear the music and more.

Im a people watcher and I haven’t seen a better place than that to park myself and watch. 
Something I have learned about watching people: They can bring you great joy or break your heart. At Knuckleheads last night, I experienced both.

A short, squat woman, maybe in her 50s, stuffed into a tight “pleather” mini skirt like a sausage about to burst its casings…. a Michael Jackson jacket over a bustier that looked like it might at any time give way and of course, a bandanna and glove.. fishnet stockings and high heeled booties completed her look. She was absolutely and utterly happy and I couldn’t help but feel the same. She didn’t care if anyone was looking at her. She danced all night long with dozens of men and women and drank pitcher after pitcher of beer. I watched her all night as she drank, laughed and occasionally clutched at her top while she bounced around the dance floor knowing the words to every song. 

A man in a faded flannel shirt with a torn pocket, a dirty corduroy jacket and much too long shaggy hair stood near us, propping up a wooden pillar that likely held up part of the building. His size was what I noticed first, about 6’4″ and stocky with massive shoulders. His jeans were old and tattered and he held no drink. I imagined he had spent his last few dollars on the cover charge at the door. When he turned to look at me I saw the most amazing thing about him- his eyes. Even in the dark they sparkled, even through the smoke I saw them, beautiful but wounded and distrustful.  Our eyes met for a moment until he realized I was looking back so he quickly looked away. Under that tangle of hair he had the face of a dark angel and I wondered if he knew it. Watching him as women passed by, he reminded me of a shy stray who had been hurt once too often. He desperately wanted to be there, you could see it in his eyes but if you got too close, he’d pull away. 

And so he did, again and again.

The ladies room  walls were covered with graffiti, some old, some new-  they contained the history of this place.In a swipe of dark red lipstick I read the words:

“Just maybe this time it will be alright.” 

I spent the rest of the evening hoping it was, for her.

There is a kitchen of sorts at Knuckleheads where hot food is served up in plastic baskets and waxed paper from behind a half door to the kitchen.

The menu is simple:
Tacos 4 for $5 (cheese extra)

Chicken wings $5 a dozen

Hot dogs $2

Sasages $3  (sic, though a “u” had been added in black Sharpey)

I asked the man behind the half door for the tacos and he wiped his hands on his dirty apron and smiled. “Cheese is extra… another buck…cash only…”I nodded and said, “Cheese would be good…” We washed the tacos down with ice cold beer and blues. 

When I turned around the dark haired man was gone.

The evening was a success. I could spend hours writing about the people I saw but I hope you got  a feel for the place. The tacos were simply ground beef  in greasy taco shells, topped with cheese ( $1 extra, lol ) but D and I decided we were hungry after so we went seeking once again.

Driving down the base of the river we saw the holiest of all late night symbols- the yellow glowing Waffle House sign. It was almost 3am and there were no other cars on the road but there are always fascinating people at the Waffle House and last night was no exception.

I knew the night was special. I knew it from the time I saw the flashing neon arrow leading us in to the bar with its surreal people and I knew it walking up to the Waffle House in the dim yellow light.

Elvis was sitting in a booth having breakfast.As we sat behind him, I simply couldn’t stop watching him. He wore a cheap, tattered white pantsuit with a silver collar and as I stirred my coffee I took in  the tiny details in his costume. There was a red scarf around his neck that was threadbare in places and you could see his bald head through his dyed black hair. He sat silently with his shoulders hunched down as he nibbled on his eggs and bacon, smoking cigarette after cigarette. 

I imagined he had come from a show where he had been the headliner in an almost empty club. Maybe he plays there every Saturday until midnight for tips and the door money and knows the bouncer by name.  He washes his costume nightly and carefully hangs it up to dry. He mends the tears and touches up the roots in his hair and sometimes allows himself to  think that maybe tonight, it will be alright.

As we drove away I saw him walking through the parking lot and hoped that he met the girl from the Knuckleheads ladies room and together, tonight, it was alright.