Blue Moon Bar

Located in the mid of a dell, the Blue Moon Bar is a hangout for the unusual and obscure. Crowds gather between the forgotten hours of the damp nights. Alternative music coruscates through the thick dim lighted air. The bartender invites everyone ordering a drink with a folk lore. In the corner near the jukebox, a lonely soliloquy with a ten-dollar roll of quarters selects the songs, trying to become lost in the music and not remember the day. The house harlot writes between the stalks of men, like a used book a man can turn her frail pages. Hitchhikers lay a map on a pool table, retracing their travels. Looking into a shot of vodka, a mother finds her identity. Directing those leaving, a man in scrap garments points to the exit. Above the exit sign among the diverse ornaments in the bar, is a timepiece without hands. An indication that time exist in a place where there is no time.

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This entry was posted in Fiction, Prose, Travel and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Blue Moon Bar

  1. Monica Kimbler says:

    Nice!

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