The City

The City

A dense fog hung over the city that night, though it kept above the ground. It settled around the fifth stories of the walls of street corridors. To look up was to be given the impression that the sky had lowered itself, permeated by the blunt spikes of towers. The sidewalks were damp from the condensation of the somewhat less opaque clouds upon the metropolis floor. Outside it was like standing in a room with a stained cotton ceiling and a brick floor.

         In the middle of one particular sector was a shoddy little tavern. It stood there as a sanctuary of these more hostile parts, where a wrong turn could mean an encounter with people much less friendly than the folks inside. Within its modest walls was one man who had taken such a step. He sat alone at the bar, hunched over on his stool. Only one other soul stayed so late, the owner of the little establishment.

         "Gimme another," the man called to the bartender. A damp can of Dr. Pepper slid across the counter.

         "I think this'll be your last one for tonight," he advised. "I've gotta close up pretty soon. I'm sorry, but I can't stay open just for you."

         "I'll tell you when I've had my last," replied the man. His hair was wet, and his face marked signs of both the cave-like dampness outside and cold sweat. He was covered here and there by red scratches, and bruises discolored his skin at times. He looked like a man hanging onto the the last rung. "Thanks for bringing me in from out
there, but I can manage myself from here."

         "It happens a lot in these parts," said the bartender, drying a newly cleaned mug with a soft white rag. "We found you out there laying on the ground, so we figured we'd better drag you in. Whoever beat you up was kind enough to leave you your wallet, but there's no telling what would have happened if you were left there."

         "Now I can spend all that money drowning my self in Dr. Pepper," he said, and took another swig from his can. He then stood from the bar stool, and walked into the
darker recesses of the room. There was a chair back there, one set apart from the empty tables which were staggered in no kind of pattern about the floor. He looked at the chair
and sat down. "Man, what happened to my chair? Did you replace the cushions with rocks or something?"

         "What do you mean your chair?" questioned the bartender.

         "Oh, I'm sorry. I've been here before. It's been a while actually, I don't think you worked here back then," said the man, shifting in his chair, trying to get comfortable.

         "Son, I've worked here all my life. I don't recognize you. But you sure seem to be familiar with the place," he admitted.

         "Well this is definitely the place, and this is definitely the chair, less comforting as it is," the man replied, taking a gulp of his Dr. Pepper. "Have you ever felt," he continued,
now in a sort of rambling way, "like you've lost something important, but you can't tell what it is? Or not so much lost something, but that something isn't there anymore..." Even as these last few words left his mouth, he drooped down and passed out.

         The bartender put the glass down and hurried around the counter. "Wake up sir," he said, shaking the man. "Wake up." The man opened his eyes unevenly, as if dizzy. "You see? I told you you'd had enough."

         "I suppose you're right then," the man said, coming slowly to his senses. He returned to his feet. "Well you know what? I've got something, if it's the last thing I've got."

         "What's that?" inquired the bartender.

         The man smirked in a goofy sort of way. "I'm a great guy," he said. He grabbed his Dr. Pepper from the armrest of the chair and began to stumble toward the door.

         "You're also under the influence of Dr. Pepper," said the bartender. "I think maybe you'd better stay a little longer after all." Just then the man fell to the floor. He picked himself back up, dusted himself off, and tripped back to the chair.

         "Man, who am I fooling? Being a great guy isn't enough to make it out there. This is the only home I've got."

         "They've always said that home is where the heart is."

         "My heart is broken. So I think I'll move away from home. This'll be my house, but I'm not going home," said the man. Then his eyes gave way to the weight of sleep, and he drifted off.

* * *

The next morning, the man awoke to the clatter of glass. He opened his eyes, squinting as he still adjusted to the beam of light piercing the musty air through the
window.

         "You're finally awake," said the bartender, hanging glasses onto a suspension rack. "You fell asleep, and I
thought you'd be safer here than anywhere else, so I let you sleep. But you'd better be off now."

         The man moved in his chair. "This seat is still really uncomfortable. I'm surprised I got any sleep for you to allow. Aside from that though, I had the craziest dream last night. I was out in the city, but it wasn't so dark. There were lights everywhere, lots of people, and music. Everyone was having a great time."

         "That sounds pleasant," said the bartender.

         "It was, I assure you. Too bad it's not reality though...In the real city, if you get too comfortable, you take a wrong turn, and then you're in a dark ally, and you can't find your way back...Until you end up in this bar after someone drug your beaten body in." The man seemed somewhat less dreary now, despite his comment. "I guess I'd better get used to this place," he said, standing up, "because I'm going back out there." With a vague sense of destiny and some bit of confidence, he left the tavern.