(fragment)

There was a passing of sorts, a time between here and there. She closed her eyes and remembered the smell of the place. Old tobacco and traces of beer and liquor from the night before were its perfume now. An echo from the ancient creaking stairs almost filled the deserted space. The bartender at the far end was young, maybe even just-hired. It was still too early for any of the new regulars, and the old ones were caught up in the lull of the late afternoon. That quiet before the night began, the shifting light that cast a restless calm on the street. One had to feel it to really understand. It was as if the town knew what was about to happen, but didn't want to move just yet.

They had gone, the characters of the old stories. Her writers had all left to ply their luck in sleepy towns or insomniactic cities. She smiled to herself as she remembered a favorite. Another guitar player of course, only she hadn’t known it until he was long gone. “I wonder if those shoes ever finished falling apart," she thought to herself. He was a brilliant eccentric. They'd walked the entire town one night, talking about love, life, and this strange little town. Cradles and catapults. That's what he had said about it. And then days later he was gone. Not that he was ever really hers in the first place, there was always someone else.

“Want anything?”
“A beer, something good.”
"What kind?"
"Your best."

The new bartender pulled a glass from behind the counter and walked over to the taps. She looked out the open door as he set the glass down in front of her.

“Thanks,” she said as she drank the first of the draught, “this used to be a coffee shop.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Must’ve been a long time ago”
She looked out towards the street again, and then answered. “Feels like it, or just something I dreamt about once.”