Where kids grow up and people become part of furniture, behaviour is loving and brash, apologised over time. Age and story telling is king. Synthetic golden conversation, which quenches thirst is pumped up from the ground.
Propped up and wiped down, the polished divide is where it all starts. Locals gather and strangers stare, how the polished bar draws you in. Shiny statues, salty snacks and frosted glass.
A mirrored glance to check your stance, and then the battle of the stare. Shoulder to shoulder you keep your ground, jostling up and down. Puff your chest to grow a little or slowly tap your card. These are just many of the foolish ways to guise your building thirst.
A nod or a glance from behind the bar and you can breath a sigh of calm. You’ve kept your stance and held your ground, you’ve earn’t yourself liquid treasure.
What will it be?
You’ve rehearsed the next bit. You’ve said it many times before, and it rolls off the tip of your tongue. Hurrah…. a slurred victorious battle, in what will turn into a long and bloody war.
You see the veterans arm in arm, scars of red and silence.