Long day at work? That's not unusual, we all end up with days like those. From the construction site worker all the way to the suit and tie executive type; life can be hard on everyone. Couldn't sleep for some reason or another? That's fine, you've got a place here at the bar too, just gotta walk in through that door. The home life getting you down? I guess that's why you're here and not there on a night like this. Running from memories of the past? Chasing a future that's always at your fingertips but always just out of reach? Don't worry about those here, time stops it's relentless march in this humble little bar of mine. Stray cat that's just stopping in for a small bowl of milk and a good, long, nap? Heheh, don't worry your weary little whiskers, we'll take you too. This is the Wayward Stool, a place for those without direction or a refuge of their own. A pit stop for the lost souls that wander the streets, stepping between the lights in the endless darkness of a cold and lonely night. Come on in, warm your bones, and stay as long as you like.
You see it there, amidst the cold light of a street lamp on this particularly rainy and miserable night, the warm glow of a place you won't be alone. You're not quite sure why, but you just know that's where you're supposed to go. Looking up the way you were going only revealed to you more of the same dreary loneliness you'd already suffered from for far too long. Behind you, all the things you were running from at the start, waiting ever patiently for you to come back as they followed you no matter how far you went. Just across the street, nothing but the now familiar urban sprawl that loomed over you since your journey had begun. But, right here next to you, was an open invitation that you just couldn't pass up. So, instead of continuing your never ending march of isolation, you decide to take the plunge, you open that unlocked door and make your way inside.
Relief sets in as the tension from your aching muscles begins to ease, the warmth of dimly lit room seeps into your bones. The atmosphere around you is calm, quiet, with an oddly familiar sounding slow jazz tune drifting softly through the still air. The floors were a clean redwood, not quite polished but clearly maintained with an obvious touch of love. The walls from the floor to about a third of the way up were a darker hickory planning that gave way to plaster painted a soft tan. The ceiling was constructed of the same dark stained hickory as the paneling that framed the room, a domed rectangular skylight cut across most of the ceiling to reveal the rainy night sky above. Occasionally, the passing lights of a silent train danced through the bar, filtering in from the skylight above. The layout of the room was simple. In the furthest corner sat a small bar with a handful of stools and a white marble top, cushioned seats stretching across the wall behind the stools, chairs and tables set with lit candles to accommodate those without a seat at the bar. To the opposite end, was a long wooden bar top where drinks could be served and the ashtrays sat, allowing those who smoked to do their business while not disturbing those patrons who did not partake.
Taking this all in, your eyes eventually drift back to the small granite topped bar in the corner. Behind that bar stood a tall man, an older gentleman with long back hair slicked back and meticulously combed in a way as to be presentable. gracing his chin and cheeks were a well groomed and trimmed if not a little greying beard. He wore a fine white button up shirt tucked into tailored black slacks, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he busied himself with polishing his glass mugs. Over his shirt rested a black suit vest with a tasteful black silken tie tucked underneath. Now with your attention finally on him, the man gives you a warm smile and a nod of the head.
"Welcome, stranger, to the Wayward Stool."
