I didn't know who was the bartender, but it wasn't me. I crouched at my Table in a dark corner next to a dingy, diamond-paned leaded window which was open to reveal a box of geraniums miserabley hunching in the rain. I remembered when Blackie had slept in those geraniums. The wind blew the rain into my face and the gutter into my glass of Rigelion synth-ale carrot beer. I picked a dead leaf out.

Behind me, the bathroom door squeaked open, but the old haunter, Hank, didnt step out. I turned back to my drink, seeking solace like those of long ago, when I was a newbie. I always thought that they were just a bunch of drunks.

The drink wasn't too back with rusty gutter water in it. Maybe i could give a reccommendation to the bartender. i picked a pine needle out from between my teeth and started to cry.