"It’s gonna thunder, it’s gonna rain, we’re gonna get hit and thequeen’s gonna talk."The way the words tumble out of the guy’s mouth, I can’t tell if he'sdrunk or some kind of barroom wizard. He holds up a shaky ngerand points at the yellowed portrait of Elizabeth that hangs, tilted,against the dark paneled wall. I look up from my pool cue and givethe guy a look."C’mon shoot," Sammy slurs."Did you hear that?""Hear what? Just shoot." His voice oozes boredom.I pot the pink. Sammy ambles over to the pocket, takes out the balllike he's grabbing a gopher turd, and puts it on the spot."I’m going to take a piss."Watching my buddy leave, I look over at the bar prophet. I knew hisname was Harry and the barmaid across from him was Mary. SinceSammy and me started coming to the Legion about a month ago,Mary's been perched across from Harry. She lls his glass like oneof those dunking birds you get at the drugstore.I call over to the bar. "Hey Harry… are you serious?"Mary stops wiping the counter and looks across to the pool table.She and Harry are only about ten feet away. I can see her eyes, and Iknow what she’s thinking: here’s this punk-ass snotty kid going tohassle the veteran. She's probably thinking that because that’s whatSammy would do -- and Mary lumps me together with Sammy like