Table number twelve

By Tarek von Bergman

The room is filled with cold curly cigarette smoke as I sat half drunken on table number twelve with a pair of Kings in my left hand. From my old rusty wooden chair I can see farmer John leaning alone on the filthy surface of the bar, while he knocks himself out on his thirteen’s glass of Old Number 07. Like a sack of potato’s, farmer John went down on the floor with a loud ‘bang’ as he hit’s hard the ground. Everybody looks at him, but than again, nobody really cares.

In the other corner of the Saloon stand’s young Miller, chewing slowly on his cigar end with a grim in his stone cold face. His right hand rest’s easy on the dirty handle of his holster revolver.

Norton the barkeeper limps dizzy past table number twelve as he carries as loaded tray with empty bottles and drunken up glasses.

There, the old dusty clock on the western wall of this Inn just strikes the midnight hour with its chunky, noisy, nostalgic sound. All the lights outside the large milky windows are already gone dark and with its darkness set’s slowly the chill in. The nights here in this mountain village are always as cold as the upcoming frost itself.

On the next table Father Nigel preaches about life and death, good and evil. His big fleshy noise, like a rock in his face, turned already red. His drunken hollow voice swept trough the room like the brisk waves on a forgotten beach. He -, half standing, half seating on his chair and moves unbalances from side to side as he speaks, -has drunken far to much from his bottle of Scotch. In silence the crowd of the neighbour table is listen to him. From time to time there noodle their heads in an rhythmic pattern.      

A pair of aces dashed on the table number twelve, followed by a pair of red sevens. Damn, I thought to myself, tonight there is just not a bit of luck for me in the dirty deck of poker.

 

As the Saloon door swings harsh open while dawn sets in. Scar faced Jack enters wildly the bar and his long black duster coat is floating behind him.

Everyone is steering quietly at scar faced Jack. No doubt in there, he is defiantly new in town.
.......