The Kingdom of Light

The music rumbled through the speakers, not loud, not deafening, but still crisp and clear. The different voices around me made it hard to hear exactly what song it was, and even more importantly, who sang it. As usual, I was behind the bar, and as usual, it was packed. It was a Saturday, and people had just gotten paid, so the bar was packed with happy patrons who weren't afraid of leaving a good tip behind.

"Luna!" Brian yelled from the other side of the bar, waving bills above his head-he might as well have been flashing a neon sign above his head, with big, bright letters screaming notice me! "IPA!"

I couldn't resist the smile on my face, because just as short-tempered Brian could be, just as deep and considerate he could be as well. I grabbed the beer from underneath the counter, popped the lid easily and quickly-the beer opener was always in my back pocket-and set it down in front of Brian. With a smile and a short nod, I accepted the bill from his hand, and with a keep the rest, he moved back down between the dancing bodies.

The pub was a decent place; it was cozy, not nice, and definitely not fancy. The bar was long so that it could hold a lot of people around it. The counter was in a dark, lacquered wood, so you couldn't as easily see all of the stains of beer, soda, and alcohol, and so it was somewhat easy to clean. The underside of my counter was filled with coolers, where I could keep the beers, sodas, and other odd things we sold.

My hand automatically fell back on my cigarette, which I picked up and placed between my lips, snagging another drag as I wiped down said counter. I let the smoke blow out between my lips before I pulled it from my lips, twisting it between my fingers. You should stop. But that would be boring, and it would be a pain in my ass to quit. And as many other things, I choose to just ignore the nagging voice in my head, and just kept on going, hoping for the best.

I had been bartending for a long time; it was something I was good at, something I could actually figure out to do. Even in my twenty-two years, I hadn't managed to do anything but graduate from high school. I had to spend my life doing something, but it was tough settling in somewhere. But this job, it was decent pay, great tips, and it gave me something to do. As long as I got out of bed in the morning with a hunger for completing my job, then I couldn't see a problem with it-even if my mother could find countless.

When I was at work, my thoughts could just flow-they simply floated better in noise. With my hands going on routine, and my extensive knowledge of the patrons, I didn't