Date: Fri, 14 Feb 1997 18:12:00 +0000 From: "Trish B." Subject: INT: The Well Cafe The Intersupport Group of Bitter Unrecognized Geniuses and Girfriends exploded into action, stacking furniture with energetic abandon, in very short order the whole group was ready for transport in the cleared center of the Well Cafe: geniouses and/or girfriends bitter, BT cleaned, Dr. Frog his usual elegant self, Rivet freshly painted with a tuxedo in the Cubist style, and the Elephant evenly coated in a reddish pink stain. "Say," said a genious, "What is the proverb about a jiffy?" Alcmaeon replied, "Actually, only th" They all twinklingly vanished. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** Fingertips, still bright with magic, forehead still wrought with concentration, Erin Doors emerged from (the room behind), the room behind the bar. "Oh they have such fun, they do, such wonderful, beautiful, irratic, romantic fun... and noisy too!" Erin spoke not to herself, but to the portrait on the wall. "Better that you stay there... for you, for me...for all of us." Normally, Erin would have set herself to cleaning up the place. (Of course this meant a twitch or two of a finger, a wrinkle of the forehead, a "you better scram" glare at that which knew it was garbage. Sad, yes... but the nights were long, and empty bottles hadn't quite figured out how to be anything *but* garbage. They'd been told so long that they were indeed *garbage* that they finally believed that it had always been so.) Besides, bottles, even in their hey-"I'm not just a bottle"-days, hadn't made great company. They were always hitting on young bartenders for a free re-fill, and pushing themselves, widemouthed onto any young lush. Erin almost didn't feel sorry for them. Everything was quiet, and clean, and still. A little too quiet, a little too still. Feeling a bit like Cinderella, a bit like a child accidentally locked up in a candy store overnight, Erin ordered a Gold-Schlager. Of course, the air itself seemed to serve her, and she enjoyed pretending it was so. (Actually, she pretended it was Nicholas Cage, quite nude, quite adoringly staring into her eyes as he poured her drink, spilling just a bit on the tips of his fingers, *almost* offering those fingers to her ... teasingly tasting the liquour from them, one by one, himself...) "Thank-you." she purred to the image of her imagination. (You're welcome.) The portrait scraped against the wall. Carl Jung: "Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves." James Lyons-Weiler: "Everything that irritate us about ourselves can lead us to an understanding of others."