three limes and a pageboy cap - or is it page boy?

October 2004:

I saw the back of his head: a pageboy cap.  The hat led to doughy arms holding a can of Budweiser, or was it a mug?  
What would a bar serve in a mug?  
“That’s Jack,” My brother pointed as we walked through the glass doors.  He motioned to two stools next to Pageboy Cap. 
“Hey!  It’s been a long time.”  Jack made mental notes of my hair and lips.
“Hey Jack, what’s going on.” Childless Brad Pitt ordered drinks.
“And who is this?”  Blue eyes under the dim lighting. 
“January.  Hey.”  I spoke as we started to shake hands.  I pulled mine back and we laughed.  He glimpsed my nervous boobs.
“Sorry.”  My coat was off and I required vodka.  I needed vodka an hour ago at my dad’s.  Childless Brad Pitt leaned over.
“Jack, January, January, this is Jack.  We went to high school together.”  My brother spoke with as much as interest as he had in pumping gas.
“Hi there sweetheart.”  He raised his can, stood up and started a conversation with his other barstool neighbor.  Distracted by the drink my brother pushed towards me, it took me a few sips before I refocused on Jack.  An inch shorter than me and semi-stocky.
          My Ketel One and soda vanished and my breath went with it.  Baffled and my whole body at battle, I picked at my damp napkin as I abused my limes and overheard Rod Stewart sing “Stay With Me.”  My brother talked to his friends nearby: I didn’t know many people in Pismo anymore.  

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