365

jan.20.22

*Excerpt from a new story idea, titled Bar Stories*

Rain pelted the city of New Heaven. The sky above was overcast and as dark as charcoal, with no glowing moon to be seen. Street lights and business signs cast a brilliant glow off the reflective downtown streets, doing its best to illuminate the sticky shadows that seemed to be trademark in this city. Neon signs flashed against the dark, traffic whizzed by spraying rain water against the sidewalk, and music could be heard from every alive building out on the street.

The night life in New Heaven was afoot.

Located in New Heaven's heart was a bar with a heart of its own: the blinking neon of The Purple Heart lit up the brick wall it sat against. Live music from a touring pop band called Knives And Feelings drifted through the front doors, which were guarded by burly bouncers. They monitored the front door, who came in and who came out, and if there happened to be any bullshit surrounding the building and its parking lot at the back. They took their job of outside security quite seriously. They didn't mind; as long as they weren't expected to deal with the problems inside the bar.

Soft orange lights lit up the inside space; a slick black stage took up the far corner, where Knives And Feelings brought the crowd to life. Tables of music goers and drinkers alike took up the tables staggered around the room. They applauded at the music, laughed because of the drink, and felt like they were in another universe. Red curtains and intricate woven tapestries coated the walls. Comfy couches and chairs were situated against the walls and away from the tables, and polite serving girls would make sure goers were comfortable and happy. The ambience felt warm and inviting.

Stationed at the back of the building was the soul of the building itself: the bar. Filled with the best local liquors, stocked to perfection, and served by people who felt as welcoming as family. The bar counter itself was a slab of varnished maple, the wood grain etched in heart shapes and spirals. Barstools were stationed around the counter, with happy patrons chatting and enjoying the atmosphere.

A drunk woman in a sunset shaded dress slammed her shot glass on the counter after downing a fiery whiskey. Her wide eyes locked charmingly on the bartender closest to her; the man stood at about six foot two, had hair close to the shade of a midnight sky, and eyes the colour of whiskey with gold flakes. He rose an eyebrow at the drunken woman in front of her.

"Anybody ever tell you you're a handsome devil?" the drunk woman asked, her words beginning to slur together.

He chuckled, leaning against the counter. "Only you, after every shot."

The woman held the shot glass out to the man, dangling it between her thumb and pointer finger. "Can I get another one, My Love?"

"Only if you'll have something else first. A normal drink, then I'll get you another shot," he said, the gold flakes in his eyes catching the lights. "Deal?"

The woman tried her best to smile charmingly. "Alright, Honey. I'll take a kiwi kicker."

"Good choice." The man made the woman's drink, adding more kiwi juice than alcohol. Before giving it to her, he rimmed the glass with a few drops of vodka.

She wrapped her chipping red nails around her glass. "Thank you, David; you're a sweetheart."

He wiped the counter in front of him. "Damon, hun. My name's Damon."

"Yes, I meant that!" She sipped her drink, and narrowed her eyes at him. "Damon... Tempo?"

"Tempest," he said with a chuckle. "Damon Tempest." He'd told this woman his name many times, on many different occasions. She was a regular goer of The Purple Heart.

"Of course it is! Mr. Damon Tempest!" She leaned forward against the counter, attempting to appear seductive in her drunkenness. "That's a beautiful name."

"Thank you," Damon said, putting the kiwi juice back below the counter, with all of the other fruit juices.

"Flirting with the clientele?" a brown haired girl commented as she reached for the strawberry juice, close to Damon; her brown hair reflected copper in the bar's lighting.

Damon chuckled at her comment. "Angelina Hawksley, how dare you make assumptions."

The woman's eyes looked worried for a moment. "Make assumptions; I don't mind flirting."

After grabbing the strawberry juice, she chuckled and stood on her toes to whisper in Damon's ear. "Good choice, Bacon," she said, using his strange nickname given to him by another nervous bartender years ago.

"Oh, shut it, Hawk," Damon said back, using Angelina's most common and well used nickname.

Hawk chuckled, and went back to making her strawberry banger drink.

The song ended, and the room erupted in applause. The lead singer, a leather clad handsome fellow, bowed to the crowd. Pointing to the bar, all of the bartenders and serving staff screamed out in unison, "LAST SONG, LAST CALL!!" The band's guitars and drums burst into a quick beat for the last song. People began dancing to the beat, and going to the bar for their last drinks.

All six bartenders poured shots after shots, collecting glasses, and jammed out with the other goers. The music was rocking, and the room felt alive. The woman in front of Damon chugged her weak kiwi kicker, and shook her shoulders with the song. Damon mouthed the words, as he knew Knives And Feelings and their music well. The Last Call Song was one of his favorites.

The drums hit the last solo, and the symbols rang out. The guitar strings hummed. The room exploded in applause and cheers and good spirits. The five members of Knives And Feelings set their instruments down, stood at the front of the stage, and bowed to the applauding room.