Mister
A cold and dark knife edge of a gust skirted a two-way pavement and across to an endless horizon of sallow grass fields. The few hours of true night between twelve and the bruising sky of dawn where there was a pervasive, present silence and lunar shading that fell stagnant on all things save one. A man walking the road, no purpose to his travel. Where he had been as unknown as his tomorrow. He happened upon a bar, a dive middle in all the vacancy. It should have been abandoned and by then would have were it not for a last few reprobate guests, their trucks resting long on the gravel as though they were growths symbiotic to the mortar. A single street lamp hung low with its trunk misshapen with collages of nails and tears of paper ingrown in the rotting wood and its jaundiced light dampened neon catcalls for alcohol consumption. OPEN. The brightest beacon in that lonesome square of an earth he hadn't yet been acquainted with. He stopped, turned, studied its face. Gaudy luminescen...