The Wilds

March 8, 2006

So, a priest, a rabbi and an astronaut all walk into a bar.

That actually isn’t important – however, the bar they are walking into is.

St. Johns Tavern for the Weary, reads the signpost out front. A haven for the strange and unusual. A bar that can be found in any number of cities, and is never in the same place twice. Take your gaze off of it for more than a minute, and it may well be gone when you look again.

We’ve had a stakeout going for four days now. Professional watchers, all. You know that scene in “A Clockwork Orange” where they peel the guy’s eyes open? Yeah, we’ve all been there.

And we’ve kept our orbs locked onto the bar since the assignment started. Don’t know who hired us, or why – you don’t ask questions in this business, not if you want to stay in the business, if ya get my drift.

But weird stuff is happening. That place wasn’t meant to be held still, and every now and then we catch a glimpse of it trying to leave, a glance at alleys and streets behind it that aren’t the ones there now.

Dangerous business, this. A place trying to be in two places at once… or two places trying to occupy the same locale at the same time… either one of those could be a recipe for disaster.

But you don’t ask questions, and you don’t worry ’bout the consequences. You take your money, and you do your job. Asking questions is fer folks living a normal life in a normal world. Ain’t no place for that sorta thing… not out here in the Wilds.

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