The Sum of All Happy Hours

[no-prisoner.livejournal.com]

Eddie comes in from the Staff Quarters with damp hair and his Ginslinger t-shirt, his gun and gunbelt already tucked into a neat roll that he sets under the bar. He sits on a stool for a while picking his Specials and writes them up on the chalkboard.

"Howdy, all you beautiful folken. Specials tonight are Love Potion #9, the After 18, and that old fav, the Manhattan. Come and get it!"

Comments

[no-prisoner.livejournal.com]

Eddie freezes.

Susannah was from 1964; he's not sure but were the Towers even started then? But by '76 they had to be open, and they'd've been under construction for at least a decade before they did.

Oh Christ how'm I gonna tell Jake?

"You say true, Ted." If he stay out here, breaking on the bar, someone might try to symapthize, and then he might hurt them. He really might. And if it were Bernard or Ace, cheerful mad bombers...

He shudders. There is an ocean of rage looking for a place to vent right now. He needs to get out of the bar.

[mr-brautigan.livejournal.com]

"Go on." A pause. "I've got reading to do."

He looks at Eddie's Mets cap, now askew. He feels sick.

[no-prisoner.livejournal.com]

Eddie straightens it.

He's not taking it off for a while.

Like, a year.

"Night, Ted." He takes his gun out from behind the bar and walks out into the Staff Wing, his shoulders bowed.