Thursday, July 21, 2005

On a balmy July evening, I step into a bustling bar, holding a cellphone to my ear. I am momentarily disoriented, unaccustomed to the intimate crush inside. I squeeze past bodies fitter, taller, tighter, willowier, and more finely clad than mine, rubbing extremities I'd rather keep to myself.

I sit down on the nearest stool I can manage, and carefully set down the cellphone on the gleaming surface so it faces the bar. I brush myself off and down, feeling thoroughly molested.

The bartender is a male, early thirties. Indeterminate northern European stock. He wears a crisp black dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. As he leans forward, a touch of fatigue involuntarily shows on his fine features. His blue eyes flicker to the silvery device sitting quietly on his counter, but ignore it.

Him: Yes?

Me: Barkeep, a glass of your finest cat's piss -- ahem, beer. My friend here [airily indicates cellphone] will also have a beer.

The barkeep raises a well-groomed eyebrow as he surveys the non-descript contraption.

Me: It was his birthday last week. I owe him a little something.

We both look at the phone, he skeptically, I expectantly. A voice, faint in the din, nonetheless speaks clearly from the earpiece.

Faint Voice: Make mine a Labatt.

Me: Make it extra cold. Oh, and extra good. We only live once, am I right.

From 589 kilometres away, he admonishes me.

Faint Voice: Maybe for the rest of you.

Me: Happy birthday.

posted at 9:46:39 pm

Sinister Ninja
July 25, 2005   11:48 PM PDT
Lmao! This was so awesome. You rock, Glouria.
July 25, 2005   06:15 PM PDT
Finger-lickin' good. Shut up, Sinja.
July 24, 2005   02:24 PM PDT
Ah, I do so love reading you, Glow. Tiny morsels always to be savored. Thank you. *licks fingers*

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Glo'ri'a'na, noun:
1. An alternative form of "Gloria."
2. As "Americana" defines itself as artefacts of American culture, "Gloriana" consists of the artefacts of my culture.


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