A Sign of the Black Dog

There was a hope, and perhaps a dream, once… but those days have gone and passed.

Inside the pub he walked into, a slogan runs along the back wall, beyond the pair of giant television screens. It’s written along the upper cornice of the ceiling. It’s short and catchy; something along the lines of: Good beer, good cheer, and a good ol’ time. In this once booming town, all the pubs are now the same; they are vacant; with the exception of a slogan running along the wall, somewhere.

The wooden-style trim and moulding, that give this pub a Western feel, are quite common in the other pubs of this dying town. But, some pubs have more modern designs and modern furniture. And he knows this, because, he’s been around enough of these scenes lately; however, he doesn’t wish to change anything about them. That’s not his business. He picks the scene he wants tonight and he staggers over. Like an act in a play, he picked the classic cowboy saloon.

The others, with their two brain cells left, they want to change him and make him more modern, like some piece of furniture in a modern pub. But, there’s nobody around him like that that he has to answer to now, save for the pint placed before him; and so he sits down at a stool, in front of one these big ol' TVs.

The pint before him has a simple request: that he finish it. That’s it. It’s that easy. There’s no hidden message to decipher. There’s no pressure, either. Nobody is standing over him with a gun to his head and forcing him to drink. Yet, he chooses to do it. He prefers it. He prefers it a great deal over the thought of screaming children, or the upset wife. But, he’s got none of that baggage anyway; they don’t exist — he never made any of those… mistakes. He chooses to drink, because he can; he's a free man. He’s otherwise been darn responsible, all his life. He’s tired of frowning, and he’s waited and waited — his whole damn life — for a smile to return to his face; the smile of his youth... Father Time stole it from him.

He got his education and he landed the job — they both made him miserable, and over time they’ve given him nothing but deep scars; like the lines etched in the wood where he lays his pint down. He feels the smooth varnish now, on the wood, with his free hand; but he also feels the rough and distressed edges where Father Time has left a mark. It reminds him, a little too much, of the creases upon his face; and the stubble that he never bothers to shave off anymore. Over here, in the pub, at least there’s less of that frowning, which leaves a mark. But, still, the others will condemn him for it, anyway.

The pint before him doesn't judge, but, maybe someone will put a label on him later. Perhaps, it’s the refined man with five kids and three different wives that’s got a beef with him; who knows, when he’s at the pub he’s not a productive member of society anymore.

Atlas, once holding the world aloft on his shoulders, stops the motor of the world: for he tricks Hercules into taking his place, whilst he extends his hand out to quench his thirst.

Thus, this man, whom we'll call Atlas, begins his solo night, with a pint, in front of the big ol' TV. He’ll drink from this pint, and that one, until he can’t string two sentences together; but even then, he’ll still manage to write this story down better than most of ‘em refined types. He doesn’t have nothin’ better to do nowadays anyway. There are not a lot of people coming through the front door of the pub.

But he knows that he’s just a shadow; nothing more, nor less. Nobody really knows him here. Atlas or not, he doesn’t have a name here yet — and nobody really cares what his name is; so long as he pays his foul tab at the end of the night, he can wash his name away, with as many drinks as he likes. What is he, and what does he do, actually? — it doesn’t matter, because he can drown it all away half-seas-over; along with any and all of his titles or decorations. Though he earned those, fair and square, they’ll try and take those away, too; perhaps because he tripped on the deck making his way down to the loo. They’d reach out and take the heart out of him, if they could. They’ll damn him, and make an example of him, for not exceeding their expectations. A hockey game is on the television screen. His favourite team isn’t playing, but he’ll watch it anyway.