Monday, July 18, 2011
Some sadist is playing Barry Manilow in my brain, over and over. I'm sitting in my usual booth with my usual Corona and Could It Be Magic is doing doughnuts in my cerebral cortex. i've tried to stop it - witness the four empties in front of me - but Barry just keeps on wailing.
There's a feeling of impending doom hanging heavy in the Tavern tonight. Maybe it's because our fearless leader is upstairs feeling like a giant wishbone? Rowan and Star are up there with her, but haven't yet reappeared. In any case, glumness sits heavy on the countenance of many.
I've seen a few of the patrols meet up here, but I haven't seen any leave; they were just gone the next time I looked. Guess the glamour thing is working....
Patti takes charge of my empties with a strained smile. I don't have the heart to goose her and watch her try to balance four beer bottles, so I settle for a vacant-eyed smile in my turn.
It's gonna be a bad night tonight; I can feel it in my ancient bones.
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