The Accomplice

Long shadows gathered at Jim’s pub. Perhaps it had a name once; all its neon long since flickered out. No sign, no lights. People gathered in booths and whispered; sat at the bar and stared at the shaddows in the mirror. Smoke coiled around the busted ceiling fans. Jim’s was a basement pub, once the seedy backlot of psychedellic sixties rock venues. Not much has changed since.

A soon to be dramatic and slightly unnoticed reality was taking place among the daily occurences. Jack wondered who had talked him into this. Nervously pushing back his matted hair he felt unnoticed. In the back of the pub, a scruffy young musician was playing his guitar much too loud much to the annoyance of the patrons sitting too close. The boy shook the small makeshift stage that had supported one too many chord progressions. He wasn’t very good but no one wanted to tell him. He wanted to be famous. Ignoring the noise, Jack remembered his reasoning for searching out this fornication of collective grime.

But where was she?

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