Bar of the Foul

Inky Smoke twirls and dance Its smoky Polka amid a sea of horror shows all projecting their shadows upon one and all. Amongst grinning goblin junkies Amongst grinning toothless fairies downing drinks of dead desire the smoke is not the only thing to creep in the stench of new attendees enter the frying pan through the fire. Suddenly there is an uproar A hag's scream pierces the smoke a ghoul chokes on a bone the reminder of something even more sinister then themselves has appeared. Through the suffocated windows of ash comes the radiant light of a new dawn. Reminding them all of their lives, of the next day to come. They pack it up, all shuffling back to reality as the cock chimes Nine Echoing upon the cool breeze lifting out smoke and stuffiness Exposed is the blood stained floor, wood and decayed a victim of alcohol spills and termites. The Black Rats scatter over cannibalized carcasses, trying to find their dens again. The bar tender a troll of ignorant repute, grinds his oily teeth as his apron drips with the screams of goats and children He scrubs down the floor the tables the Bar the Alter Gone is any evidence of the night before except I suppose the stench that can never be done away with A constant reminder of the Night only faded from memory It will return It has to As the cockroaches file back in as they always do to the dance of smoke