Leaving the doctor’s office I make a beeline for the bar. Working with technology always makes me thirsty. It seems early for a drink. And it is. Not only is this the only bar on this street but it’s my favorite bar. It’s essentially a pub with a vast collection of books, ranging from fiction to encyclopedias to maps, it has everything. For the first time in twenty four hours, I’m happy to see an open door.
Entering, I go straight behind the counter and Cleaver follows me. Being the polite lady I am, I first grab a bowl and fill it with pale ale from the tap, and place it by his feet. He looks at me questioningly for a moment before tasting it.
“Hey, you’re not my dog,” I shrug at him and he drinks it slowly. I pour myself a crisp, frothy stout, groaning with anticipation as I do so. Hopping on the barstool I turn back to Cleaver, “See, this is what we should have done first.”
He seems relatively content to lap quietly at his beer. After scanning the books within sight for a while I stand and begin drifting through the shelves, beer in hand. After looking through what might have been a history section (it’s a bar, the books weren’t methodically organized), my eyes land upon a doozy.
Physician’s Desk Reference
I pull it down and begin flipping through the Table of Contents. But after a few moments seeing what kinds of trouble I might get myself into unnerves me. I stuff it in my backpack, deep in the bottom. Cleaver is standing next to me.
“Can never be too careful.”
He whines in response.
“Hey, I’m not saying we are going to be all alone forever but if this is going to go on for a long time… GOD, I hope not… I would be an idiot not to bring this with us.”