It’s Not a Bird. It’s a Painting.

Strange Times

The Castle, 7-14The Castle was an imposing fortress, rising up from cracked sidewalks and then fading mysteriously into the blackened sky above.  Goths, dressed in black and shiny metal, surrounded the ancient brick and stone building like sinister and mysterious sentinels on the payroll of Vlad the Impaler.  The four of us stood out from the rest of the bar’s patrons, dressed in bright colors and khaki shorts.  No one stared.  It was as if we were invisible to the regulars, or they simply didn’t care.  Once we were inside, a large man in dull black leather, combat boots, and a studded collar took our money for the cover charge, put plastic bracelets on our wrists, and sent us on our way.  Our first stop was the slate bar – A large, rectangular bar made entirely out of slate rock, gray and rough and chiseled, like something that had just risen all on its…

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