The Reporter

Chapter 1

The Apartment

It was one of those typical hot summer days. I was at home and decided to go to Dionysus, a bar that was two blocks from where I lived. I was living in a small 1-bedroom apartment, next to the subway that met my needs and possibilities. Being a freelance journalist came with it's restrictions.

The bedroom had an 'organized mess', and at the table I always had my camera, recorder and notepad. The room was filled with some of my favorite books, next to my little TV. On the bookshelf, there was on display an award from the association of journalists and press.

I took my wallet and keys to get out of the apartment, and when I was at the door, my phone rang.

- Gregory? - the voice on the phone

- Who would like to talk to him? – I answered

- It's Alvaro, stop bullshiting me Greg. Can you talk?

- Well, I answered the phone. I suppose so. What do you want?

- Always humorous. Listen, we've got a spot in the newsroom. What do you think of that?

- I think you should fill it, otherwise some of your reporters will be overwhelmed.

- Funny, I thought the same thing... Stop it Greg. Do you want the job or not?

- No, thank you, I don't.

- Is having me as a boss so much worse than not having a steady job?

- The problem isn't the boss Álvaro, it's just the boss end. Don't feel so special.

- You have talent, kid. I'm just trying to offer you the opportunity to use it more often.

- Let's just say I prefer to use it my way.

- Well, do what you want, you might need some stability at some point. If you want to talk, give me a call.

- I will. I know you already do the same.

I hung up the phone and left the apartment. As I was going down the elevator, I reflected on Álvaro.

Álvaro was the editor-in-chief of the largest circulation newspaper in the capital and the state. A correct and fair fellow, but who has been in the news world for a long time. He had published the piece that earned me the award of the national association of journalists, and whenever he could, he tried to pull me into his newsroom.

The Dionysus

Leaving the lobby towards Dionysus, I said good night to the doorman Heitor and went down the block. Heitor was short, thin and with a permanent smile on his face. Acted as the sole doorman/janitor of the building. The Dionysus was a simple bar, with good, cheap and cold beer, open 6 days a week. The place was homonymous to the owner, a Portuguese in his seventies, forty of them dedicated to the bar. He was one of those who knew regular customers and knew how to control situations when necessary.

I sat at the usual table and received almost immediately from Lazarus, the oldest waiter in the house, the usual beer. Lazarus was slender, tall, and extremely observant, a characteristic that fell to him as a waiter.

- Hello Mr. Gregory - Greeted me Lazarus, while serving the beer.

- Good night, Laz, thank you.

- Make yourself at home.

I put myself to the usual practice, to look at the other regulars of the bar and trying to evaluate what led them there.

After evaluating what I understood to be 3 bricklayers at the end of hours, four university freshmen and a couple who have seen their better days, I came across the figure of a man, who drank alone and was already beyond his limit.