Yep...#71
Behind the bar, a small radio faded in and out of range…I think the song playing was ‘Sowing the Seeds of Love’ by Tears for Fears but, I couldn’t be certain. The fading afternoon light was invading the gloom of the room, giving everything an orange glow. A friend of mine had once told me it was the “golden shower”. I had never really understood the term, though the cascade of glittering, yellowish hues could have been construed as a ‘bathing of light’, I suppose. Katie sipped at her tea and I kind of stared down at my half pint of Belhaven’s Best. There happened not to be many folk in the joint and the deafening silence threatened to drown out Roland and Curt’s attempt to sound like the Beatles. I became more fascinated with how the soothing, colour hues played with the bubbles bobbing around on the top of my glass and asked, “Katie, do you like the golden shower?”
At first her teacup just hung before her mouth and a slight audible breath exuded - properly dressed in tones of flabbergast and surprise. When she asked me to repeat my question, I did but, with slightly different intonation and accent of alternate syllables…heck! Didn’t seem to make any difference…the cup slammed down on the table, the chair got pushed back with a look of indignation that, if utilized during Custard’s Last Stand, would have laid all those attacking hordes of savages to rest in seconds flat (and still time for lunch)!
I drained my beer. I waited for some clarity…none came, so I got up and wished the bartender a pleasant evening and exited into the elongated shadows splaying themselves across Main St.
Yep...#71
Behind the bar, a small radio faded in and out of range…I think the song playing was ‘Sowing the Seeds of Love’ by Tears for Fears but, I couldn’t be certain. The fading afternoon light was invading the gloom of the room, giving everything an orange glow. A friend of mine had once told me it was the “golden shower”. I had never really understood the term, though the cascade of glittering, yellowish hues could have been construed as a ‘bathing of light’, I suppose. Katie sipped at her tea and I kind of stared down at my half pint of Belhaven’s Best. There happened not to be many folk in the joint and the deafening silence threatened to drown out Roland and Curt’s attempt to sound like the Beatles. I became more fascinated with how the soothing, colour hues played with the bubbles bobbing around on the top of my glass and asked, “Katie, do you like the golden shower?”
At first her teacup just hung before her mouth and a slight audible breath exuded - properly dressed in tones of flabbergast and surprise. When she asked me to repeat my question, I did but, with slightly different intonation and accent of alternate syllables…heck! Didn’t seem to make any difference…the cup slammed down on the table, the chair got pushed back with a look of indignation that, if utilized during Custard’s Last Stand, would have laid all those attacking hordes of savages to rest in seconds flat (and still time for lunch)!
I drained my beer. I waited for some clarity…none came, so I got up and wished the bartender a pleasant evening and exited into the elongated shadows splaying themselves across Main St.