A Night at Riley's

A story by Barbara Stephens

The wind fell from Trois Montagnes, driving wisps of ice-rain down the rooftops and chimneys of Francois By The Sea. The

gaunt old houses huddled their high shoulders against the cold blast, and the sea shuddered in vain. Such a night was fit neither for man nor beast, as the sleet drove the last human stragglers home. Those with homes nestled closer to their firesides; those without came over to Riley's.

;

Big Gus shouldered her burly form to the bar. With a toss of her leonine head, "Two cokes and a straight shot," she ordered. Slowly her eyes accustomed themselves to the dim candlelight glow, catching highlights on the ornate bottles and the hard young faces around her. "Hi, Steve," she cried as a lank six-footer strode up and sat beside her. She ordered a drink for her buddie and settled down at ease.

"You know, Stevie old gal, a place like this's a second home, after getting out of that dingy old hotel room. Ono needs a bit of companionship in one's own cornfield once in a while I get kinda tired of that old play-acting."

"Yeh?"

"Yah, you know what I mean. Oh, people are nice, but they're so hidebound prejudiced: they make a virtue out of hatred, and they're all the time stereotyping us. If they'd only take the time to see us as persons--"

"Who?"

"You know, I mean everybody

-

the typical straight people the fuddy-duddies. They mean well, but they're all so much I don't know that it's such a crime to be different; the real crime is being blind."

alike.

"We're all pretty blind, yep?"

"Could be. They say 'love is blind, and liquor's blinder'-

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