Vintage

Vintage is one long brick room, books to the ceiling on one wall and bottles on the other, with a bar across the back. The woman behind the bar is polishing a glass. She does not ask where you have come from.

Over the bar a ledger hangs in the air, glowing, ruled in two columns, words on the left and numbers on the right. Windfall Bridges. Paper Lantern Weather. Doorstep Pollen, with a line under it in smaller writing: yellow dust carried in on shoes. The numbers move while you watch.

At the far end of the bar a man in a vest sits with a pen over a notebook ruled the same way. Each time a number moves, he looks at it. A stair in the corner goes up to a balcony.

Jean, says the man in the vest, and holds up two fingers. The woman pours without looking at them.