i bring the beer to my lips before i make myway to the end of the bar. my feet leading me without thinking. I mind is reaching for the line that was just there. I have found in most bars the light at the end of the bar has some quality that allows the absorbing of words. I set my beer and my book down. Only then taking notice of the sometime patrons and regulars. I love this place.



where are you going with this? The question that always plagues me when I sit to read. I scare myself sometimes because I am ussually willing to follow flights of fancy and go down into the darkest cellars of the authors minds. Racing heart, sweaty palms and all. Achored to the stool I dare to roam all over. I pick up the tome and dive in. I read of bookstores and murders. I read of children and tears. A fencing match between the devil and the author.



I finish the Stella and look down the bar. Jackie is tending this evening. She makes her way down to me and I nod. What are we having this time she asks. I raise my hand and spread my finger apart about 2 inches McCallan and then raise my fingers again and McCallan. She crinkles her nose at me. She grabs the 18 and starts to pour. She sets the glass down "Must be distrubing"

"Scotch seems to be the best protectant to these dark pages" I say as I bring the glass my mouth. Cheers. Armed again I delve deeper into the book. letting him lead me where he will.