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Post by ariamorgan on Aug 5, 2009 17:58:12 GMT -6
The bar was on Dresden road in the Outbridge Mill section of Little Rock, a big solid cool-looking building with burgundy brick walls, a terra-cotta tile roof and a white stone trim. There was a heavy scent of summer that afternoon and everything that grew was perfectly still in the breathless air they get over there on what they call a nice cool day.
Aria went in. The room beyond was large and square and sunken and cool and had the restful atmosphere of a funeral chapel and something the same smell. She went directly to the bar, pinched the first stool and indicated for her first glass of Whiskey. The barman, tall, thin, silver, perhaps sixty or close to it if not a little past it, poured the caramel liquid and served it without a hint of conversation. If Aria was looking for company, she wouldn’t find it with him.
Kicking off her dust covered boots, to allow her feet some air, Aria slid back against the bar. After a days worth of travelling on her Duccatti hog, parked out back, she relished the opportunity to relax a little and perhaps find a little companionship to pass away the time.
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