on one cold December evening, I found him

Everyone in my village knows him.

He earned his doctorate in English literature at the age of 25 and was the youngest lecturer at Cambridge University. After a few years of teaching he decided to use the small fortune left by his parents (who tragically died on his 21st birthday) to begin a small publishing company, which he created solely to publish his own books. Though talented, no publisher would entertain the idea of supporting his thoughts (not even Cambridge University Press!).

I found out from someone in town where he went to write. So I stalked him out and on one cold December evening, I found him.

The pub where he went was quiet and situated on the edge of the village. During the day people would drive to the pub, park their cars, walk along the glen and finish their walk with a drink at the recently renovated pub.

Inside was as cozy as being at home.

Wooden beams supported the whole. An old fashion fireplace kept the main room warm. And the wooden tables, which were almost all vacant, looked as if the owner himself had built them from scratch.

I walked in, grabbed a pint and without being too obvious I had a look around the pub. This was my third consecutive night there. In the far corner was a guy in his mid-30’s. His head was down and his hand was in motion – I knew instantly that it was him.

It was more than what he was wearing or what he was drinking. His fitted, fashionable clothes, complimented by a cup of tea were overlooked by his choice of pen and paper, instead of the ever-so-popular Macbook. I grabbed a table and watched him from the other side of the quiet, ill-lit room. The top of his pen slid across the page so quickly that if I didn’t know who he was I would have thought that he was just drawing squiggles.

Ever few minutes he would reach with his left hand and grasp his cup, take a sip and continue on. I was reading Living in the End Times by Žižek and in the hour I was there I managed to get through 2 pages. Watching this alluring character was more meaningful than reading some prophetic words about the current rise of communism and the denial of the Western World.

Once his cup was empty he put his pen down and swiftly walked up to the bar. I saw him get up and instantly dropped my head, pretending to be engaged with my very large book.

He got his drink, took a sip, and headed back to his seat on the other side of the pub. Before he could get to his seat he stopped directly in front of me and said…

Categories: bleak and beautiful, story


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8 Comments on “on one cold December evening, I found him”

  1. Eric
    December 9, 2010 at 5:34 pm #

    To be continued? Don’t leave me hanging – or are looking to others to write something?

  2. December 9, 2010 at 7:19 pm #

    Go on!!!

  3. Nikos
    December 10, 2010 at 9:32 am #

    …or you are a time traveller and this episode takes place in the future where you basically see yourself by the fire in that magic pub creating and writing. And the man stops in front of you and says…’you are me!’

  4. Linda
    December 10, 2010 at 4:45 pm #

    Hey not fair…what happened next?

  5. December 10, 2010 at 6:29 pm #

    patience is a virtue.
    I’ll post it tomorrow.

  6. December 11, 2010 at 4:10 pm #

    Amazing cliff hanger.

  7. December 11, 2010 at 4:10 pm #

    I love this!

  8. Mick
    December 14, 2010 at 12:00 pm #

    The more I don’t know, the more I know … you

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