John bustled through the door of the Three Wolf Bar and Grill, shaking the snow from his parka. The floorboards there were warped and discolored under the mat, yellowed and smooth, and this continued along the wall and under the pegboard where he hung is parka by the hood to dry like the half-dozen or so others beside it. The Three Wolves was hot as always, and most of them were dry already. He stuffed his knit cap into the pocket before shuffling to his usual booth in the corner, where he ordered a dark beer and bowl of beer-cheese soup. This, to fight the cold that tends to run deep to your bones in the early part of the year. He took a small notebook from his back pocket and laid it carefully on the table, flicking it open by the ribbon that held his place. On it, he’d written four names in rough pencil.
He still could not pick a favorite. But it might have meant something that two of the four were names of flowers. The bar was half empty. As were the patrons. His waitress was named Maggie and he’d know her since they were children. She didn’t acknowledge him when she brought his soup and his beer, but he said thank you anyway. John sipped the brown foam from the top of the glass, and then sucked the excess from his mustache. He stared at the names on the page, smiling now.
A little girl. Imagine that.
Black Bolt and Medusa from Marvel Comics.
|—||Bureau of Trade|