El Garbo

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A man walks into a bar ...

THE air stale with the smell of smoke and spilt beer, salted peanuts and stained oak. The dim lights cloak much of the scene in shadow ? save for the fluorescent green of a pool table which stands out like a neon light towards the back of the room. A row of cubicles lines the wall to the left, each impenetrable with darkness, opposite the bar itself, where a lone bartender wipes down dirty schooner glasses with a greasy old rag. Occupying the cubicle furthest from the door, the man notices two shady figures seated side by side, smoking. Save for the bartender and the man himself, they are the only people inside the ragged, rickety old bar. Naturally, the man at the door ? let?s call him X ? lights himself a cigarette and moseys over and plants himself on the cushioned seat opposite the two shadowy gentlemen. No pleasantries are exchanged. Smoke wanders aimlessly from a cigarette butt left to burn in an ashtray.

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