Junebell's Story - A Very Drunk Goblin, and a Terrible Apartment Building

Neon bleeds across the wet sidewalk outside The Rusty Spigot. The Closed sign is halfway flipped when Junebell reaches the door, and warm beer air spills out around her ankles.

Inside, chairs sit upside down on tables, the register is open, and the bartender is already turning toward the back door with a key ring in one hand.

Junebell catches the smell of fresh keg lines and old hops, thick enough to make her throat tighten. The taps gleam behind the bar, momentarily unattended.

The bartender reaches for the lock on the back door, one eye flicking toward Junebell, the other on the clock above the sink.

A delivery truck idles just outside the propped-open back door, its cargo lights casting a pale stripe across the floor. The last easy second hangs there, thin as a spilled drink.

Junebell slips low under the bartender’s reach and gets her mouth to the nearest tap. Cold beer hisses into her throat, quick and clean, before anyone can shut it off.

The bartender freezes for a beat, key ring still in hand, eyes snapping to the running tap and then to Junebell’s face.

But the tap is already giving Junebell what she came for, foam wetting her chin as she gulps.

The delivery truck still idles outside the propped-open back door, its pale cargo light striping the floor between them.