Word Challenge #1

It's awkward to lift your chin off your chest and discover you're the only person in the bar besides the tapper and the piano man. One blankly wiping down glassware, the other absentmindedly smoking a cigarette in the half light of the room, staring into a distant nothing. This is the state of things in the days leading up to Carnival when every juke joint and eatery is gearing up for the mob of tourists. But now it's still possible to stumble in to a dimly lit place at two in the afternoon and find a little solitude. Solitude was what I was after, after all, given how things had been going in my day-to-day. I’d never been in this bar before, but from the outside it looked inviting, like a place I should go, a place that would welcome me or at least provide what I needed. What I needed was a drink and some peace and quiet to do some thinking.

The place showed all the signs of being prepared for the onslaught of out-of-towners. A giant mask hung over the bar, its glittered half catching the neon and twinkling in all the colors of the rainbow, flashing a sinister smile while its empty eyes surveyed the room. On a large sandwich board, announcements for specialty cocktails had been elaborately chalked—one a straightforward apple and cinnamon and one a more adventurous and costly sassafras and lemon. Plenty of unique beads had been stashed in plain sight to purchase an impromptu peep show from first-and-only timers looking to take home a dragon's hoard of novelty gems. These beads had the look of quality about them, too, which meant they would be desirable as keepsakes where other places Carnival costume jewelry would eventually adorn landfills.

Behind me the piano man, sitting idly behind his beat-up Steinway, casually began thumping out a monotonous A flat that seemed to ripple across the waves of boredom created by the barkeep at the end of the bar staring blankly out the window twirling his cleaning rag. I threw back the rest of my beer, then held the glass, for some time, loosely dangling it above the bar while I rested my head on the back of my hand. I noticed the bar top was made of rows of pennies glued down and, at one time, varnished over, but now age and use had worn the varnish away and some of the Lincoln's had started to green with oxidation.

I was just about to call for a refill when a foursome of young girls burst through the door jabbering over some juvenile controversy which seemed to be centered on the wisdom of stopping in a place like this. One girl was ordering four shots, one was speaking exasperatedly into her phone trying to give directions to their location, the third, while examining the available real estate, shouted across the room, "Hey! Can you play anything on that piano or are you just going to bang on that one key?"

"Oh, yes, Miss, I can play anything you desire to hear," came the reply in a voice that sounded like a frog croaking.

The fourth girl, who had a sprained wrist, judging by the stabilizing cast she wore, shouted in response, "Oh, yeah! Play this guy's future," gesturing at me.

"Sure, sure," the piano man croaked mildly, "I can do that. But it'll be a short song and sad—wouldn't you prefer something else?"

"Not at all," she said matter-of-factly as the piano man began humming a very dark melody, placing his fingers upon the keys, and adjusting himself to begin playing.