Aint Easy: Episode 1 The Daves of Our Lives Our love is plastic: It takes many different forms, And lasts forever. --Rod Buck's Tavern. The surface of the bar was scarred with ruts -- deep, long, winding grooves long ago engraved by the threatening blade of a knife never intended for hunting. Individually, each was a testimony to some long-forgotten battle -- two overgrown men, intoxicated on their passions and passionate in their intoxication, fighting for the fancy of some dissatisfied housewife, too lazy to remove her wedding band, too restless to honor it. Together, though, these oaken imperfections formed a testimony to the spirit of a town where the action never stops, where your oldest friend could be your newest enemy, and where nobody respects a freshly-polished countertop. The place was near-empty. One young couple sat hidden in the booth, barely visible from the bar. The young man had his back to the Tavern and could not possibly have seen the room's only other two occupants casting furtive glances at the portion of his partner's smooth ebony legs which her short-short denim skirt failed to cover, but from the woman's uneasy posture and the uneaten appetizer special growing cold on their table, it would be safe to assume he had some idea. The other men's attention was taken mainly by a fourteen-inch black-and-white television set at the other end of the bar, though. For the last ten minutes, it had been delivering grainy images of a title bout from years ago, when champions moved faster than the camera and announcers could tell you what punch was coming next. "Hey Rod, did I ever tell you about my days as a boxer?" the bartender asked. Rod towered over him from his barstool. Rod was a rakish young man with broad shoulders, a stubbly beard and long, golden locks of hair stretching halfway down the back of his Harley-Davidson jacket. He lifted his mug and took a cool, refreshing gulp of Rusted Root Beer. "A thousand times, Buck, a thousand times." "Did I ever tell you about the time I won the Golden Gloves Championship?" Rod shook his head no. "I had to fight Dave Bronson for it. A hell of a fighter. He and I worked out in the same gym all through juniors. Never worked with each other too much--Devo told me Dave couldn't concentrate well enough, said I never got any work done working with him--but we had a healthy respect for one another. I didn't want to be on the wrong side of his right, and he didn't want to be on the wrong side of my left." Buck put his rag down, walked in front of the bar, and took the stool next to Rod's. "When we got to Golden Gloves, Dave's family moved into town, so he started boxing at one of those fancy-schmancy second-story gyms. A year passes and I see his name in the Post. It turns out he's something of a local stud. He's got little girls throwing themselves in his path and Hollywood agents sending his picture to studios. "Devo gets so jealous, he bumps me up a weight class, just so I got a shot at him. He's seeded one at the tournament, I'm seeded two and we both get knockouts all the way up to the finals. Me, I'm starting to get a little nervous, Dave was a tough kid and he had a good eight pounds on me. I thought he was just gonna send me on my way, but as soon as the bell rings, I'm all over him. He never got his feet on the ground and by the end of the match, the photographers had to stop taking photographs of him because he was too ugly for the cameras. "You know what I find out the next day? Devo hired one of those schoolgirls to go into Dave's dressing room to 'get an autograph' an hour before the fight. Dave wore himself out so bad giving her 'an autograph' that he didn't have anything left for me. Do you believe that? The guy's got the world by the balls, and he can't keep his hands off a girl for one single day." Rod reached over the bar and filled his mug with another refreshing Rusted Root Beer. "You're full of shit, Banshaw. You couldn't knock out a fly if I held him up for you." The two laughed and glanced over at the still-quarreling couple. The woman's legs were now crossed and they seemed to squirm under the glare of the three men. "You ever consider a career on the canvas, Rod? Or were you too worried about taking one in the kisser?" "Hey, this kisser can take a mouthful. I just always listened to my momma. She told me to beware any activity that involves a ring." Rod and Buck shared another manly chuckle. "It sure is too bad the way your mother disappeared when you were only twelve years old, leaving you to a bitter life of uncertainty, yet at the same time molding you into the wise-beyond-your-years, street-savvy individual that you are today." "Yes, it weighs on me heavily that I do not know whether my mother is dead or alive, but it has turned me into a better person for my suffering." The woman in the corner uncrossed her legs, pushed her skirt back down, and rose along with her partner. Seeing this, Buck rose too. "I'll make sure the lovebirds paid. When I get back, let's talk business."