Meridian's Bar: The Beerwalker.

There exists a bar called Meridian's on the dark edge of town.

It's right off the turnpike but there's no exit nearby. No one remembers how to get there or what city it's in. If the conditions are right though, you just might find yourself there.

I made this.

Joe's legs were killing him.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been on the run, but one thing was certain. The sun was hot. He was dripping with sweat from head to toe. Even so, he clenched tightly to his long knitted sweater. He was tired, and dirty, and barely capable of walking another step. His tongue was as dry as a desert lizard's asshole.

All at once he came upon an old stone building. A simple wooden door looked uninviting. A grey nail near the top held an uneven board on which the words "Meridian's Bar" were written with an ominous red liquid. He opened the heavy door and peered inside.

A single green lamp near the register was the only source of light. The bartender's shadow was huge and unkempt. Soft, thrumming music was indistinct and unrecognizable. He stepped in quickly, trying to appear nonchalant. He was thirsty as hell.

Source: Pixabay.com

A single draft beer was a dollar fifty. Two filthy bills laid out on the counter. Cold beer in hand, Joe walked over to a nearby booth. He wanted one to be out of sight, but able to see others. He was looking for a mark. The lamp in the bar illuminated things clearly-- a handsome woman, the front door, and a small, round, analog clock. From his current vantage point he was confident that nobody could see him, at least not very clearly.

Joe milked his beer for what seemed like an hour hoping to remain alone. His wish was granted. An old dirty ashtray sat in the center of the cracked maple table. He grabbed one of the longer butts, one full of stale tobacco, and lit up . Kool menthol. Refreshing. A keen eye on the door, in the very instant the lighter struck, the front door swung wide open. A blinding flash of sunlight destroying the darkness, the silhouette of a perfect gentleman.

Top hat, clean black suit, he moved like an actor.... or somebody of great importance. Had he walked right out of the 1950's? A jaunt to the bartender results in a small draft beer. Now casually seated on a dingy wooden barstool. Joe's eyes went wide as the dapper fellow pulled out a huge wad of bills, eyes filled with deep seeded lust. The man quickly downed his beer, slammed the mug on the counter, and was out the door in a hurry.

Joe stuck around until 2:30 but no more marks came in. No one like the gentleman. Wandering out into the terribly brilliant sunshine, he looked for a hidden place to sleep.

This is a rework of a post I made something like 2 years ago. That post needed quite a lot of work. And now it has gotten the work that it needed. I hope you enjoy this.