The bartender had been hailed by the man in the black rumpled suit. The man seemed to have sunk down into himself, hunkered deep there. Beyond where the voices of the other drinkers could carry. It occurred to the bartender that it might be a funeral suit, black as it was ; he could not account for the rumpled condition. Maybe a fight had broken out, graveside, among the survivors.
Poor Boy, Long Way from Home
reblogged from The soundcheck and the fury