Everyone at the table greets him in their own fashion as Ian sits down next to Travis to a chorus of ‘fatties’ and ‘assholes.’ “I got your message. You guys didn’t feel like doin’ the house thing?”

“I was just in the mood to see Daphne and Kristin. I couldn’t convince them to come with us to the house.” Looking at his notebook, Travis adds, “I needed to get some writing done, too.”

“Are they coming here?”

“No. They’re primping and going to dinner. We’re suppose to meet them at Mean Mike’s in thirty minutes or so.”

“An hour,” Nick corrects.

“Well… yeah, probably,” Travis concedes. The girls would be a little late.

“Anybody up for darts?” Nick asks.

“I gotta’ concentrate on this,” Travis says, pointing at his half full pitcher.

“Nah,” says Ian.

“I’m game,” John says, getting his beer and standing up. Nick slides out of the booth and they both walk off to the back end of the bar. Ian switches from his seat to the other side of the booth to face Travis.

“What were you reading there when I came in?” Ian asks.

“Some lyrics. You wanna’ read ‘em?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Travis opens the notebook to the spot and passes it over to Ian. Sitting, quietly sipping his beer, Travis just watches the bartender while Ian concentrates. His friend’s face is serious as he reads and nods at this or that point. Ian had a way of unconciously pointing at things on a page that caught his attention, and Travis always liked it when he managed to get that reaction.

“Yeah,” Ian says, looking up.

“Groovy?” Travis asks.

“Well, no. I wouldn’t say it was groovy. But I know what you’re saying.”

“Right on.” Travis takes the notebook and slides it under his helmet on the bench.

“Bring Mary Jane out tonight?” Ian asks.

Travis nods. “This weather is perfect at night.”

“Man. I wanna’ get a bike.”

“You should get one.”

“I should at least get my license.” Thinking about it for a second, he asks, “Would you let me borrow her for the test?”

“Well, you have to go up to Gainesville or Toccoa to take the road test, so I’d have to drive up there with you. But yeah, other than that—that’d be cool.”

“Cool. I should do that this summer, while I’ve got some time.”

“You’d have to make a new fake,” Travis says, joking.

“Oh no, I put motorcycle class on mine already.”

“Really?”

“Hell, I put everything on there. I can drive an eighteen wheeler.”

Travis laughs. “I didn’t even think about that when we were doin’ ‘em.”

In a Mexican accent, “Ju got to think about deez things, mán”.

Travis just nods.

“That bartender is killer,” Ian starts after a moment, leaning into the booth in confidentiality.

“She’s fine.”

“I like the way she doesn’t take shit from anybody. She looks tough, you know what I mean?”

“She made me say please for my pitcher.”

“You should ask her out.”

“No. You can’t ask bartenders out. Bad news.”

“Why?”

“Oh man, I mean, that’s gotta’ be a rule or somethin’. Think about it: you know how many people probably hit on on her in a night? You’d have to be a helluva guy to even get her attention. Besides, I think she has a boyfriend.”

“Really?”

“I’ve seen her with a guy.”

“So?”

“They were doin’ couple stuff—you know, ogling over each other.”

“Oh.” Ian sips his beer. “Still though. Be good for practice.”

“Ah, but not the ego, Iansan,” Travis said with a polite bow.

“I gotta’ get me some,” Ian says, absentmindedly.

“Lisa not cutting it?”

Ian thinks seriously on the matter for a moment and then sighs. “No. No, things are fine. Dude, I just want a little action, you know?”

“You wanna’ flirt a little bit,” Travis offers.

“Not flirt.”

“You wanna’ carouse.”

“Yeah.”

Travis looks around the room for potential targets. “Nobody’s stoppin’ ya’ buddy.”

Ian looks around the room, too. “Yeah,” he says disappointedly, “yeah they are,” and then laughs.

“What? Go hit on the bartender. You said you dug her.”

“Nah. Not my type.”

“What about that one?” Travis asks casually, tilting his head backwards.

Ian leans over, not enough to be noticed. “The one by the pool table?” he asks out of the side of his mouth.

“Yeah.”

Ian leans back into the booth and makes an appraising nod. “She’s a cutey.”

“Go tell her,” Travis says jerking his head.

“No that’s too much work, dude.”

“You said you wanted some hustle,” Travis replies, exasperated.

“Yeah, but I wanna’ be at a party, you know. I don’t wanna pull the old—you know,” Ian raises one eyebrow and smiles out of the other side of his face. “Hey there,” he pantomimes, licking his teeth.

“Okay,” Travis replies, “if you’re gonna’ do it that way, I definitely advise against hitting on anything with two legs.”

“You know what I mean,” Ian says. “Just some casual conversation with the feminine perspective.”

“Well, yeah. I understand that. But that’s not carousing.”

“It’s not?”

“No. That’s being a geek.”

“Oh.” Ian nods, reassured. “And you…”

“Also fall into that category.” Travis sips directly from his pitcher and offers a toast. “Here’s to being a geek.”

“Cheers.”

John and Nick return, sitting on either side of the booth.

“What’s the occasion?” Nick asks regarding the toast.

“Ian finally had sex!” Travis offers.

Nick guffaws.

“That was pointless,” John huffs.

“Trounce you?” Ian asks.

“Beat the crap out of me. I only marked out two before he was done.”

Nick just sits, smiling smugly.

“He’s good,” Travis agrees.

“I’ve had practice,” Nick says, being modest.

“Your bosses?” Travis asks.

Nick nods. “Greg is fucking unbelievable.”

“That figures. It’s not like they have anything better to do at that gallery.”

Laughing knowingly, Nick agrees.

“Did you not have to go in today?” Travis asks.

“No. The gallery had to cut back on hours for the summer. I only have to go in a few days a week.”

“What, every other day or somethin’?”

“Whenever I feel like it really,” Nick offers, chuckling.

Everyone at the table scoffs.

“They’re gonna’ let me do a mural on one of the workshop walls.”

“Badass,” chirps Ian.

“I did a couple of sketches. It’s gonna’ be ‘Prometheus Stealing Time and Tools, Being Pursued by Three Lazy Muses Who Fear Employment’.”

“That sounds good,” Travis remarks.

“That’s funny man,” agrees John.

“I’m actually gonna’ do it around the clock on the wall, so Prometheus will have the wall clock up under his arm.”

“Cool,” says John.

“It’s gonna’ take me a month.”

“How’s that other painting of yours coming along?” asks Ian.

“Which one?”

“Uh… the black and white one… Jacob…”

“‘Jacob Wrestling the Angel’?”

Snapping his fingers, Ian says, “Yeah, that’s the one.”

Nick makes a face though. “I don’t know about that one.”

“Dude, I totally loved what you had going on with that the last time I saw it.”

“Yeah. I don’t know what the hell to do with the background though.”

“Time to battle the muses,” Travis says, nodding to John.

“We haven’t done that in a while,” Nick replies.

“That shit’s crazy,” Ian says, “the war paint and everything. I should photograph you guys doin’ that some time.”

Drawing out his words to sound like a stoned hippie, Travis says, “Add to the vibe, maaannn.”

“It’s usually pretty spur of the moment, though,” Nick says.

“Yeah. We should all get a place together next year,” Ian agrees.

“That’d be cool.”

“Hey guys,” Travis jumps in, acting overly excited, “If we owned our own bar, we could, like, hang out and drink together forever!”

Nick raises his hands over his head and yells drunkenly, “We’re goin’ to Florida!”

Travis shrugs, “Some lyrics.”

“Any good?”

“You wanna’ hear ‘em?”

“Sure.”

Opening the notebook, Travis says, “They go along with that riff I was fooling around with ’bout a week ago. That D sharp…” Travis hums the riff, “You remember?”

John nods.

“I’m not gonna’ sing ‘em though,” and Travis, taking a breath, begins:

A roundandround weights me like
dim, heavy halos overhead
only human and blind by deed
headed for ruined promised lands
I lost my steed
My hands too dirty
For entrance
though they are better tools
for the peace I seek
which slips from me


slips through stone or verse
beneath skies I fly
over flat and treaded land
with wings I've not yet made

Nick and John both nod quietly when Travis finishes.

“I like that ‘dirty hands’ part,” Nick says. “Nice image.”

Travis thanks him with a quick bob of his head.

“What inspired that?” John asks.

Travis looks around the bar at all the angel’s wings on folks’ backs, and the black space that comes after he knows he screams, “with wings I’ve not yet made!” He hears the wanting of a connection in everyone in the room; some particular piece of the subject of the lyric that will never go over well for the people listening—the audience. It—the inspiration—is more ephemeral than just the space between eveyone, though, and more internal—”his dirty hands”—his “heavy halo.” He turns to Nick and John, smiles, and shrugs.