A Conversation About Country Music And The Decline Of Western Civilization

We were sitting in a bar on the wrong side of the street.
You always overrate country music, she said, did a shot of tequila and kissed my cheek.
I took a pull off a glass of whiskey. Sometimes I underrate it, I said and lit a cigarette.
You can't smoke in here, she said. For instance? she added.
Garth Brooks, I said.
You hate him, she said.
Maybe I'm wrong, I said.
Because you don't like Garth Brooks doesn't mean you underrate him. You are right about him, at least, she said.
Because you agree with me doesn't make me right. I might be right about Garth and I might not. I don't really like Roger Miller and he's good. I think Hank Williams, Jr. is better than Hank Williams and just about anybody that thinks they know shit about the subject would tell me I'm full of it. Shit, that is. I finished my drink. May I have another, I asked the waitress.
If you don't put that out I'm eighty-sixing you, she said.
I put the cigarette in my empty glass. This world gets more fucked up every day, I said. I am right about that, I added.
Because you can't smoke in a enclosed space? she asked.
Yeah, I said.
I thought we were going to go out to dinner, she said.
Let's. I hate this place anymore, I said.
Don't be bitter, she said and smiled.
I'm not. I just hate watching the decline of western civilization roll under my nose in the guise of the greatest thing since clean air, I said.
She walked over to the jukebox put a dollar in and punched in Sweet Dreams. Do you feel better? She asked.
A little, I said, and gave her mighty fine ass a little tap.
She laughed.
Would you like to dance? I asked.
I would love to, she said.
I'm a crap dancer, I said.
That's alright. I'll lead, she said.