Midnight Pub

A misterious door can only open to a surprise, be it good or bad.

~teacup

The sky is already changing shades from dark blue to dark gray, the clouds gather above the city as the wind announces the imminent rain. One by one, the drivers turn on the lights of their cars and envious streets reply with their lamp posts. The train station is still far away, I know I won't make it in time before it starts pouring and if I don't want to get wet as a cookie in a cup, I better find some shelter. I stop on my tracks to think where I might go. I'm not exactly new to these streets, but I never stopped here for a break so I don't know a single place to crash except for the usual bar I visit in the morning. It's always been work and study, without a precise order. The thought is a bit depressing. It's in this moment that I notice a curious door on my right: a wooden moon adorns its frame and above it a sign reads "The Midnight Pub". Judging by the warm white light shining from the windows and a soft lounge music coming from inside, the place feels open and welcoming of new souls. Upon entering, my eyesight is drawn to a lit fireplace by the crackling of the burning wood, then towards a long countertop where the bartender is talking with a couple of patrons. I take another moment to gather that little bit of courage I always need before entering new places; that's interesting, I was so charmed by the inviting door that I forgot to do that before. I walk up to the counter and sit on a industrial-style stool, in theme with the rest of the room. The barkeeper excuses itself from the others to get my order: a simple, warm, cup of tea. Minerva McGonagall would give me a tumb up for that. He's a man that somehow fits my ideal of a bartender, reserved but friendly at the same time. It's a mistery to me how someone can manage to balance their character on this precarious overhead wire. He must have noticed I'm not one to talk too much to strangers on my own, because he starts doing some small talk. The small talk then becomes a full-fledged conversation and the two patrons on my right join in. The time passes and I have to leave, otherwise I might as well sleep there; the last train home is in half an hour. I reluctantly close the door of the pub. The rain has left and in it's place there's now a cold breeze that tickles my nose. Walking towards the main road I dream of the next time I'm coming to town and the great time I'll have again in the hidden oasis the midnight pub is.