By Patricia Bray, Joshua Palmatier
Technological know-how fiction and myth readers have lengthy proven an affinity for an excellent "bar story". Now a few of today's so much artistic scriveners have determined to inform their very own tall tales-from an alewife's try and move the gods' curse to Gilgamesh, to Odin's determination to introduce Vikings to the Ur-Bar, from the Holy Roman Emperor's barroom discount, to a demon hunter who could have met his fit within the final magic bar, to a bouncer who discovers you have to by no means permit someone in after hours in a global terrorized via zombies.
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Additional info for After Hours: Tales from the Ur-Bar
The strangeness of it is what I remember. The next day, Rhoda asked me to join her at the piano. I told her I didn’t know how to play, and she said it didn’t matter. So I sat beside her. “Close your eyes,” she said. ” “Yes,” she said. ” “Yes. ” I closed my eyes. “Put your hands up to the keys,” she said. ” We sat for a few minutes in silence. The space between us thickened and rolled in and out. Her first note echoed down low. She played more notes, and they took up places in the air. “This is great,” I said.
I pulled all the gum wrappers out, then stuffed them back in. I swung the metal cover open and shut a million times. “Cut the crap, Roy,” my father finally said. He gunned the motor to let me know this threat was real. ” Rhoda twisted around and readjusted her seat belt. “She said, ‘I love you, Rhoda. Everything is perfect here. ” “Don’t be an idiot, Jim,” she said very quietly. My father looked in the rearview to see if I had heard that. I had no idea what to do, so I gave him the thumbs-up. “She’s going to kill him,” Rhoda said matter-of-factly at breakfast.
Welcome to your new home, his father said, and put his hand on top of Roy’s head, then his shoulder. By the time the plane was out of earshot, they had bumped the dark, rocky beach and Roy’s father was out in his hip boots pulling at the bow. Roy got out and reached back for a box. Leave that for now, his father said. Let’s just tie off and take a look around. Nothing will get into the boxes? No. Come here. They walked through shin-high grass, bright green in the sun, and up a path through a small stand of cedars to the cabin.
After Hours: Tales from the Ur-Bar by Patricia Bray, Joshua Palmatier