Sunday, June 12, 2005

The return.

The doors of the Log Bar flew open, piercing rays of noon day light shattered the merkyness of the bar. Its insular inhabitants slowly rotated in their seats and on their stools. They raised their arms to shield their almost albino eyes from the magnificence pouring in through the door. They couldnt quite make out who had infringed on their sactum but the presence was somewhat familiar, like a distant memory. Heavy, confident footsteps began marching across the dusty wooden floor. The doors swing shut. The bar is once again shrouded in darkness. The eyes of its inhabitants begin to adjust back to gloom. At the same instants the bar lets out a collective gasp. The same realisation hits every person at the same time. It's I.B.M. Nobody ever knew what happened to him. Many thought he had been murdered, others believed he had fled because of gang trouble never to return, there was even a rumour that he had been abducted by the government so they could research his greatness.

Where ever he had been, he was back. He looked around the bar, no one would meet his eye. He smirked and strode to the bar. Everyone wondered where he had been and why he was back. No one would ask. He reached the bar. The barman would only glance up at him and then back to the bar. "Ginger ale....with ice, motherfucker."