There was a local
bar
still in town. That was one good thing about this middle of nowhere place. Without it what else would the people there have? Just
depression
and
booze
. But alone. At least at the local bar they could drink together. Not that it made their personal lives any better. But it made for a life more bareable.
The local bar had a name that nobody called it by. They just called it Mack's. Even though Mack wasn't the owner. He happened to work there the most during the drinking hours. The time when most the town folk went to drink there. Not too early that it was a bunch of deliquents. Not too late that it was the hopeless.
Nice thing about a local bar was that people were open to talk. And to listen. Most franchise bars were simply places to watch the game on a TV while drinking and eating greasy food. At Mack's people would pay attention. If something was going on that is. Most nights, there was nothing happening. So the people inside that dark, long room would watch the game and tell stories.
But on this Thursday evening... people were talking. There had been sounds. In the woods. Suddenly nobody was paying attention to the TV. Mack had even turned the volume down. Everybody was listening to the man in the flannel.
