Eddie at the Bar ©

The story — in my words

I wrote this after spending too many Friday nights at a formica bar top in Oyster Bay, watching the same guy play out the same ritual. I was fascinated by those four quarters he’d line up—his little barricade against the world. We cut this in a way that felt like that heavy, humid air you get on the South Shore when the Mets are losing on the TV and the house lights are about to come up. It’s a character study of a man whose wedding ring has become a phantom limb, holding onto a life that’s already left him. I wanted to capture that specific moment when the jokes stop landing and you can see the hemoglobin leaking through the bravado. It’s a song for the local legends who stay a round too long.