The Story To Soon Be Named...

"10 cents more." he said coolly as he slid the coins back across the countertop.

"I can do it. I can restrain myself from lashing out." I thought, desperately clinging to the last bit of dignity I could muster.

The barkeeper draped his lanky form over the stretch of the countertop, placed his head in the palm of his hand, and glared at me; a smug grin taking hold of his long face, as if to say "Your move." As if, only seconds ago he hadn't watched me empty the contents of a tiny, velvet sack and harass nearby patrons for any loose change that they'd doubtfully be willing to part with. As if he hadn't seen me rummaging through the worn out, mildew-stained settees for the stray coins some passive drifter hopefully abandoned. As if he hadn't witnessed the degrading act I just performed all for some-

- I lost it.

Before I could stop myself a shrill "How DARE you!" escaped my lips and I started forward, clambering over the countertop. The release of my near howl just as quickly fell into a desperate squeak for help as the sensation of moist, clammy hands clasped over my face and began tugging me away from the parlor bar. A heavy arm bound both of my own; I was captured, but not trapped. I shouldered my tiny frame out of the anonymous obtruder's hold and pivoted to face my opponent, swiftly grabbing and uncapping the syringe I fortunately left in my upper pocket.

"I play for keeps." I thought to myself.

I started to lunge forward, preparing myself for the sensation of needle meeting flesh and I glanced upwards into the features of my nameless contender. As my eyes met his, I faltered; a wave of relief overtaking me. This was no anonymous delinquent seeking a fight nor was it the barkeeper's muscle.

I exhaled. The tension that had enveloped me moments before trailing after that breath; my gaze still firmly locked on his. He stared at me anxiously, his dark eyes seemed to be begging me to stop where I was and leave.

Carefully, I situated the cap back onto the syringe and placed it back in my pocket. I turned to face the bar once more, observing that the barkeeper's form remained unmoved, and rested my little velvet sack on the counter's worn, wooden surface. One by one I returned each coin to the sack; the clerk's gaze fixed on each motion of my hand. I had his attention and he seemed a bit more on guard, or maybe I wanted him to. Regardless, his attention was mine so I seized the opportunity: once the last coin was in I SNATCHED the sack off of the countertop in what I feebly hoped would be a show of authority, pivoted on my heels and strode out- keeping sure that each step loudly declared the pronounced tone of my dense leather heels striking cheap, laminate wood, alerting all in earshot of my departure.

The once anonymous male frame walked ahead and kept the door open for me. As I rounded the corner of the exit I regrettably glanced back at the clerk to glimpse the onset of a satisfied grin taking hold of his smug face.

"I hate you." I breathed to *Mystery Man*. Though I knew that I shouldn't be surprised at his behavior.

We mounted our [hover]bike and started west. For a few miles we drove in silence, the steady, unpredictable approach of plum trees keeping our thoughts from wandering for too long. Avoiding colliding into them was effortless; the flora naturally carved a workable path making it easy to avoid near-catastrophe. The path ahead was clear, at least it was materially. What actually lie ahead on this journey was far from our sights.