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It was at the edge of town, naturally, but it was also at the edge of the universe, in its own pocket, neither here nor there, so it may as well be called its own dimension: a place where things are either seen or not seen, depending on your mood, your degree of boredom, your distraction level; one moment you might spot its dim, amber, old-fashioned filament lighting, and any second it might flicker away again, out of sight, forgotten like a TV tray slipped under the sofa, gathering dust bunnies.
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DEAD MANUSCRIPTS BAR

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The Dead Manuscripts Bar

By Scott R. Garceau | June 24, 2012 - 12:00am

It was at the edge of town, naturally, but it was also at the edge of the universe, in its own pocket, neither here nor there, so it may as well be called its own dimension: a place where things are either seen or...

Sunday Lifestyle