Tomorrow Justin will learn that he is not who he was taught to be.
On the walk to the bar in the city, he would notice just how bright they lights are: "Pretty." For years, he had been too young to join in on these festivities, but he was older now. He was old enough to drink with his elders, and learn their stories. He was old enough to take a few punches and lose a few fights. He was old enough to know better.
On the way to the bar, he noticed many women. As if he had not noticed them before this day, he basked in their variety and essence, staring far too long. Some stared back, while others avoided the hungry gaze of the puppy he was. They only hoped that he was fixed. After a few comical trips and stumbles on the road, the bar was within eye-sight. The tower was there, perhaps a princess waiting for saving. Perhaps just a few over-priced beers.
On the way into the bar, he was not greeted with "NORM" or the bell of the door opening and shutting. He was not given the eye-contact of anyone other than the barkeep (who judged his age easily from such a distance, taking note that the boy held his wallet tightly, ready to expose his I.D. The bartender would intentionally never ask for this, knowing the pride in tow).
On the walk to the bar-top, waiting for someone to stop him, question his being there, or at least bump into him recklessly like the drunken brutes he expected, he counted the patrons. Only fifteen. Upon observing the clock, he began to doubt the popularity of this bar. It was nearly eleven at night, and apparently only 'regulars' were here. None of them were interesting, none at all. Even four beers didn't give him much to gander-- other than the bartender who insisted that he tip once in a while. He dropped a fiver.
On the bar stool, leaning against the bar top, and taking a look at the bar regulars he noticed why nobody was here. There seemed to be some sort of construction going on in the back of the place. A large white sheeting was covering the area beyond. Mother always said that curiosity killed the cat, but dad always hated cats anyway. The sheet was up against the men's room door, so it was easy for Justin to slip into the bathroom for a few moments, and back out and past the sheet.
On observation, he knew that he shouldn't be here. The floors had no wood. The stools had no seats. And the roof had no... Well there was no roof, he took note. Something about the sheet behind him kept this half of the bar obscenely quiet. Some kind of black bird hung out on the bare rafters, staring down at him, shitting on the exposed earth beneath them.
On the beams of the floorboard, he walked. He paced, playing with balance and testing his sobriety. As he noticed, he was too keen at the moment. He intended another drink, soon.
On the walk through the sheet, he was met with a solid white wall instead. This is when he fell between two parallel floor-boards and into the wet earth beyond, some piping meeting his backside.
On the ground, one curious thing, he thought, was that he did not notice this extension from the outside. He was almost certain that it was a small boutique adjacent to the bar. Perhaps he was drunk. Perhaps he was just oogling too many women. Perhaps he should have thought about this before he had run face-first into the wall and into the mud.
On the floorboards were multiple bugs and ants, judging him as they passed on their highway drive home. He stood up again, and would crawl toward the sheet. His hesitant fingers pressed into the fabric, which was fabric once again! He pushed it up, and began to crawl into the better half of the bar, muddy and panicked and crawling. People took notice.
On the floor, he pushed himself upright and gasped out, excitedly pointing toward the sheet-wall.
"Th-that sheet was a wall!" He exclaimed.
On that note, the barkeep nodded, and then shook his head, glad that this boy hadn't started a tab. He much preferred he leave sooner rather than later. But that wouldn't be the case. An also-excited fellow came by, standing near Justin, leaning in. This is when the mocking began.
"Oh is it?" the man felt the sheet, smirking. "Feels like a curtain to me, kid."
"But no, it changed. And I fell because of it." Justin offered, looking for pity from this stranger.
"Well I don't know about that... Tell us more about what happened." The man brought him over to the table where he and his friends were.
On the seat that Justin sat is the seat where he realized that his father would be ashamed. Justin should have been discreet, calm, calculated in such a setting. Perhaps he should have offered a punch in the jaw from the man obviously patronizing him. Instead, he retold the story over and over again-- each time adding more intricate details.
"Cmon, Vern, listen to this. Tell it again, kid."
"On the floor was bloody mud, and worms crawling all around. And on the ceiling was a dozen crows, crawing at me to leave their nest of carrion and worms. Then they pecked me back into the bar..."
On that night he learned that he could never be who he was taught to be, for he had secured himself in the seat of Town Fool.
The bar couldn't afford any additions. Justin had crawled out of the window, and right back in-- past a white curtain.
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