John and Travis come out of Musician’s Warehouse into the heat on the sidewalk and start heading in the direction of the car. “Goody!” John bounces up and down.

“You’re gonna’ have some fun with that,” Travis says enviously, though he knows John will let him use it.

John nods enthusiastically as they make their way down the street where Ian is coming at them at his usual cheetah’s pace.

“Can I play?” asks Travis.

Hugging the box to his chest, John just yells, “Mine!”

“Le’me see! Le’me see!” Travis yells in reply, dancing around John.

They get to Ian and stop. “What’d’ya get?” Ian asks John.

Travis jumps in first though, “He got a new toy and he won’t let me play!”

“You always break all my stuff!”

Suddenly twenty again, Travis replies, “I do not.”

“I know.”

Ian stretches and takes a deep breath and says, “Let’s go get a couple of beers and soak up some of this sun.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Travis agrees.

John, however, still clutching the mixer box just looks down at it and whines, “I wanna’ play with my new toy.”

“Ah c’mon,” Ian says, waving his hand in dismissal. “I’ll buy you yours.”

John smiles brightly, but Travis just says, “What about me?”

“You can buy me a beer if you want,” Ian replies.

“Where do you wanna’ go?” asks Travis.

Pointing down the street, “Flanngan’s? They got a patio.”

“Sounds good to me,” offers Travis.

Flanagan’s Irish Pub, an old Athen’s fire station, doesn’t look like it sounds. Outside, green wood paneling and old clay brick drape the front, the name of the pub running along the top in carved gold letters. The inside resembles a church more closely than an Irish pub, square and long, the altar of the bar running along the length of the east side of the room, opposite draped windows facing Jackson Street. There are hardwood floors, hardwood walls and polished Mahoganey tables that sit placidly around the room and on the balcony in the back. In one corner, towards the front of the bar, a video blackjack game sits and blinks yellow and orange.

Travis met the owner of Flannagan’s once, a man named Kelly Flynn curious to find out why a man of at least sixty years was hanging out at a well-established frat crashpad. To his suprise, Flannagan’s Irish Pub was actually an Irish pub, in so much as it was owned by an Irishman. Kelly was from east Ireland, near a town called Cork. Why he’d built a bar in Athens, Georgia, Travis never managed to get out of Kelly. The old man just talked about how he loved to see the young people come out and have fun—that it was never like that in his day, that he wished it had been.

Walking down to the pub, Travis remarks, “And if we accidentally get plastered, it’ll be that much easier to walk to the car since its right in front!”

“Actually,” John announces, still clutching his precious mixing board, “let me put this in the trunk.”

“We’ll meet you inside,” Ian calls, opening the door to the bar for Travis.

Read the whole thread: Carousel Cowboy

Characters and Places: Athens, Flanagan's Irish Pub, Ian Fleming, John Riffing, Travis Fleeting