HOMER stands outside the door to a mysterious old bar called "The Zone." He peeks in the window, but can't see anything. He studies the door, the window, the sign and everything else about the bar for a minute, evaluating. Finally, he goes in.
INT. BAR - NIGHT
HOMER steps into the bar, taking a moment to adjust to his unusual surroundings. The bar is dim, lit by candelabras, and is rather empty except for several attractive women around the bar, including two in particular wearing flapper fashion from the 1920's playing billiards (not pool, but billiards). HOMER looks back to the door, reconsidering his choice of watering hole when the BARTENDER, tall dark and handsome calls to him.
BARTENDER
Its happy hour, friend--buy one get one free. Are you in?
That's all the convincing HOMER needs and he straightens his coat and makes directly for the nearest open barstool. The Bartender flashes him a 400 megawatt smile.
BARTENDER (CONT'D)
What can I get for you, sir?
HOMER glances around.
HOMER
Do you have wine?
BARTENDER
Name your grape and your year.
HOMER
Do you have something French...and cheap?
BARTENDER
French and cheap? I used to date her, my friend.(The smile again)
I'm thinking Balzac Blanc will cure what ails you. Three dollars, four gold flakes or one coin of the realm.
HOMER produces the crisp five from his pocket and lays it on the bar. The Bartender disappears in the back. HOMER takes a notepad from his pocket and writes "247" on a blank page.
The Bartender returns with a bottle of white wine. He pours a generous glass for HOMER, takes the five and goes to get change.
BARTENDER (CONT'D)
(Over his shoulder)
A classic taste for French wine, it's also got a nice burn. Don't mind the reference to the illustrious "de Balzac", the great French literary genius.
HOMER takes a large swig, downing almost half the glass. The Bartender returns, laying two dollars on the bar.
BARTENDER (CONT'D)
What do you think?
HOMER nods.
BARTENDER (CONT'D)
So, what brings you to our bright and shiny corner of the world?
HOMER
Ahh... Thirst.
That earns another GQ smile.
BARTENDER
There are many kinds of thirst, my friend...I'm sorry, can I ask your name?
HOMER
They call me HOMER.
BARTENDER
Is that what you want them to call you?
HOMER
That's what they call me in the streets.
BARTENDER
It's a good handle, anyway. It's like it speaks of Homer, the Greek Poet, author of the Iliad and the Odyssey.
HOMER
I never thought of it that way.
BARTENDER
Maybe you should. (Beat) So back to this thirst of yours...
HOMER downs the rest of his glass.
HOMER
I'm working on it.
The Bartender quickly tops off the glass.
BARTENDER
Thirsty you are. But what are you really thirsty for? A drink? Wine? Knowledge? Companionship? We're all thirsty, but we usually don't even know what it is we really want or need.
HOMER
Look pal, please don't take this the wrong way, but whatever you're selling, I'm sure I can't afford it. I just came for a drink.
The Bartender evaluates HOMER for a moment.
BARTENDER
Are you trying to politely tell me to shut up and let you enjoy your free drink?
HOMER
Ding, ding, dong!
The Bartender nods.
BARTENDER
I can do that. But let me ask you something first.
HOMER braces himself for the "Catch," whatever it may be.
BARTENDER (CONT'D)
If all you wanted was a drink, why didn't you take your paper to the liquor store and buy a whole bottle of something that you could drink in some private space?
HOMER
I like the company of men. Women, are great too but most of them, except for the whores in the ghetto, don't find me attractive, being a bum, although amusing at times, when my pants fall down.
Bartender LAUGHS.
BARTENDER
I'll tell you what--if you finish that drink and walk out the door without getting yourself involved in the iconic men in the back room, where there's a secret game table, and the philosopher's creed, you're going to wonder about that for the rest of the night, at least. Maybe considerably longer.
The Bartender turns and begins to walk away. HOMER lets his eyes follow the Bartender, while the scantily-clad women eye him almost hungrily and the television screens showing today's winning lottery number.
HOMER
Wait!
The Bartender stops and turns back.
BARTENDER
Yes?
HOMER
Why do you think I came here?
BARTENDER
Because you're not what you appear to be. You're an aristocrat in a bum's clothing. And you didn't stay here for happy hour. You stayed here because you recognize something of yourself in this place. It cannot be what it appears to be because it simply doesn't fit. It irritates you in the way that you must irritate people who see you on the street. You want to pretend you were never here, that this place doesn't exist, but you can't because it has drawn you in and now you have to understand it.
HOMER
I think you read too much into things.
BARTENDER
Maybe. But if I were to offer to introduce you to the card players playing in the backroom, would you be able to resist?
HOMER
I'd rather you introduce me to the broads playing pool.
BARTENDER
It's billiards. And all in due time. All of your thirsts can be satisfied within these walls, but they must be addressed in order of importance.
HOMER
Who are these card players, and what game are they playing or rather should I say, gambling?
The Bartender looks at HOMER.
BARTENDER
You want to know the funny part? You know them.
HOMER
I do?
BARTENDER
Well, you know of them, at least. Why don't I introduce you to them? If, after you meet them, your most burning question is about the broads, you can ask them yourself, especially the Libertarian, who is quite the womanizer. One thing though, don't take them too seriously...They can be a little... Intense, to say the least.
The Bartender makes a swirling gesture with his finger near his temple, then flashes his smile again as he steps around the bar and leads HOMER toward the back room which is candlelit by candelabras. HOMER hurries along after him, stopping to grab his half-finished drink and bring it along. They stop by an old golden framed doorway, the Bartender knocks and whispers something, as the golden door swings open, and they step inside.
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