The Last Time Machine. Forum You walk into the bar.

I am sitting at the piano in a grey silk suit, a dark grey fedora drinking Johnnie Red and fiddling with a melody for no apparent purpose...

Upon walking into said bar, I am hearing tinkering on the piano, and I walk up to the bartender, and ask for a bourbon.

I am observing the bar from the other side of the smoked glass. The picture is melancholy. I raise an eyebrow and purse my lips as I survey. Once I go through the doors I can be who I want to be, safe in the knowledge that I will soon be nothing more than a fleeting memory to whoever I choose to acknowledge.

Walks into the side bar, notices a duck with its bill nailed to the bar, pays it no heed and orders a pink of cider with scampi n chips. Notices the locals and thinks.."I could be quite at home here."

There's this goody-girl over in a booth, and the glint off her snake-wear...

The smoke hangs in the air of the bar like smog over Los Angeles. It seems to move out of the way as the man with the brown brief case enters the bar. He is clutching it to his chest the way a woman holds her newborn baby. He makes his way to a booth in the corner of the bar. Sweat is pouring down his face, and he takes slow careful steps, careful not bump anything or anyone along the way. He slides into the booth facing the door with his back to the wall. The sweat sheen glimmers in the low light of the bar, and his bronze skin is highlighted by the combination. His eyes are surrounded by dark circles, and seemed lost in the deep recessed abyss of what were his eye sockets. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He squinted at the paper before pulling out a pair of small reading glasses. A cell phone appeared from no where, and he began dialing. In between each tap he glanced at the note. When he finished he let out a deep breath, and fell back against the booth. The sweat on his forehead dried up, and his breathing slowed. He straightened his tie, and signaled for the waitress.

Leans back from the piano, lights a cigarette, looks around the bar, couple of skinny hippies drinking on their own, some stressed suits waiting for a plane and that woman hanging around the door like she's looking for an invitation. Ahh well, another day another duck, and starts to play Chuck Berry in the left hand and Monk in the right.

I'm feeling slighty nervy, so I drink the bourbon in one swallow. I slam the glass on the bar, and give the bartender a high five, and I pay for the drink.
I look around, seeing a duck, I have to laugh.
Im expecting to see a Rabbi, A Priest, and Jesus to walk through the door at any time.

I stroll over to the piano player, and tossing a 5 into the bowl, I ask him to play the 9th Symphony.

Thanks kid, pocketing the money, maybe later.

She takes a deep breath. She was used to looking determined, confidant - untouchable, although her confidence was at a new found low. She hugged her bag under her left arm, her right hand swung free to reveal perfectly manicured nails. Not once did she glance around her having surveyed the room before she entered. She knew where to sit for the best possible viewpoint. She walked to the bar, whispered to the barman, indicated a booth behind the piano player and turned away without waiting a reply. She knew instinctively that her entrance had been noticed. Hopefully, she had conveyed the right amount of 'Don't f**k with me', to keep them all at bay.

I cannot help myself....I walk over to the duck, and poke it, to see if it's still alive...

The man orders a Cognac with a water back, and slips the waitress a brand new bill. He loosens his tie, and pulls a pack of cigarettes from no where. He taps them on the back of his hand, and swiftly rips the plastic in one smooth motion. The metal lighter he uses catches a glint of light shining through the thick fog of smoke. He is blowing smoke rings into the air, and whispering to himself. He reaches down to re-adjust the briefcase, and sets it behind his legs.

I'm watching this gent with the suitcase. Cause I'm curious by nature. There's definitly something in the suitcase, with the way he keeps handling it.

The duck doesn't move, and I give it a quizzical look before finding a nice quiet booth to sit in.
I reach into my worn out leather bag, and pull out a black spiral notebook, and I begin to write.

She looked past the piano player and surveyed the bar. There was a young girl standing next to a young man - with something between them... a parrot? There was a worrying man twitching nervously in a side booth. The piano player doo-be-doo'd whilst seeming lost in his own thoughts. She shifted into the corner seat and closed her eyes. She was cold... bugger it, she really was very cold.

Looks up. Sees a vision splendid reflected in the mirror over the bar. Plays a slow soft sly version of The Doors, "Hello, I love you..." tapering out into Verdi.

I get up from a white rimmed mouth - very gouche - a matt lays on my knees...I turn the metal lever right, then left - cold, hot water...I look at the mirror and think, "am I gonna be late?" I look at the mirror and splash water on my face, "I hope the guards think I'm merely drunk and not suicadal" - who is out there anyway?

The smoke chokes me as I enter the bar. My eyes scan the room and intake the many interesting characters. I cannot shake this strange feeling, like I had just walked into mystery novel. I make my way to the bar and order a drink. I listen to the music until I see a stunning women siting by herself near the piano. I notice that she is busy writing something in a black notebook. I walk up to her and ask if I may take a seat.

Im scribbling away to my hearts content. Writing silly lines about me being a girl, and I look up.
Theres someone standing there, looking at me. You want to sit with me? Whatever for, but yea, I dont care. Have a seat, grab a drink, and watch the duck. He may or may not be dead.

Smiles at the duck poker then picks out a loaf of bread from my bag. Waves said bread in the ducks face. Its eyes shoot open. A muffled quack comes out of its mouth as it struggles to seperate itself from the bar. I laugh and place the loaf on the bar next to its pinned beak then walk off to the backbenches.

Once settled i look up for someone to talk to.

I walk into the bar with my guitar in hand, hear the piano player plinking out an exotic tune. I order a brandy and ask what he's playing. He looks up and grins a little and says, " I have no idea but I see you brought your guitar so join in if you like." I think this is the natural thing to do so I pull up my stool.