It was always the crooked bank tellers that you had to watch out for. All the time they played the part of respectable. But when the ties came off, watch out, for that was the time that they got loose, i mean really loose. They would order a pitcher of Coors light and share the pitcher with a buddy, so they only needed two glasses, the noise of the bar was a terrible din.
the women peered at the drunken bankers thinking to themselves
Hmmm, which one of these could make me set for life. Which one of these prigs would help me never work again. It was worth the work to find the right guy, the one that would forever be your prince charming. Especially when most men were anything but a Prince Charming.
The men's eyes were wrinkled with the weight of analysis, looking at numbers gave your eyes a glean that made them dead to the world. They were weighted with the tie of respectability. They fell into the catch 22; they told themselves they had won, but in reality they lost their rights to be free to be hip to the currents that run beneath the floorboards.
That was the game being played at the Paddock bar on Derby day, not sure if anyone was drinking mint juleps, but everyone wore white lenin trousers, and there where stains on the gentilemens shoes that looked suspecially as Mr. Hunter S. Thompson said, like vomit. Everyone wore a nice respectable hat for a day at the races. And Thompson was right from far away the clubhouse looks like a postcard from the Kentucky Derby; but when you get closer total bedlam.