Melusina: The End of Dreams

In the middle of the lonely crowded barroom a young woman in a black gown that accentuated her figure and pinched her waist stood behind rows of glittering punchglasses. There was a gentle acceptance in her eyes that drew me. Suddenly I realized it was a painting I had been staring into a print of an old impressionist painting from the nineteenth century, you probably know the painting, that had improbably been pinned to the barroom wall. Next to the rows of glittering punchglasses in the painting was a small elegantly handwritten sign: SHOTS $3.75. Only the girl in the poster offered consolation, and I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye to see if I could catch her moving, in case it was M after all. Then the exquisite slim hand of the girl reached out and placed yet another sign in front of her glassware, this one also in tasteful black letters. YOU MUST GO TO A FAR COUNTRY it said. She seemed to set it up for me . . .