Monday, October 12, 2009


He sat in the dim orange glow that fell into the corner of the bar, a slight smirk on his face as he cast an eye over the boisterous crowd surrounding him. The fitness guru with her body, her smile, her infectious laugh. The inseparable pair of writers, history buffs, one given to theatrics, grand lies, the other to apology or inflammation, depending on the moment. The bartender, the artist. The landscaper, keeper of the flame. The jovial Irishman, world-weary. The nurse, talking talking talking. Ex-military man, never satisfied but always smiling. A metalworker in overalls. The boss and her husband. The betrothed. Salesman, vodka tonic. The waitresses surround him. Accountant. Owner. Football dad. Others, faces he knows but cannot name. An interloper or two. He shakes his head. Sips his wine. Drinks them all in.