Midnight Pub

Saturday afternoon at the MP


On my way home from running some errands I decide to take a detour via The Midnight Pub. Its hot, there is no need to hurry. I scan the messages on the board. Uh, ~jack has been "redacted". Hmmm. Digital suicide? I wonder. And there is some mention of plausible looking word frequencies. Sigh. "Is there still some place without the new shiny technology ..." I ask myself.

~bartender? How are you? Are you being molested or "intelligenced" too, by this newfangled stuff? ~bartender smiles a big smile and expects my order. A jar of lemonade, please. And I'll join a table in the garden!

The shade under a tree has something comforting. I look around. Not very many patrons have found the place at this time. So I might just as well just stare "holes into the air", as they say at home. I'm sure, English has better descriptions for that, but hey, I can just close my eyes as well and avoid those air holes all together, can't I? My drink arrives. Thank you ~bartender!


Let's hope that ~jack is alright, even though this "redacted" is more worrying than it might be intended.

Enjoy the garden, I'm not all too fond of the heat. No need to remind me that I struggle with staying hydrated but thanks for the free iced tea, ~bartender.

... Wait, you only handed it to me because of my sun-burnt arms and reddened face? Hey, I didn't come here for free pity and cheeky winks!