Frozen Ghost
it was cold. The unique cold we get around here. Damp, deep cold that gnaws at your bones and drapes halos around the streetlights. I pulled my Guzzi up in front of the brick front of the bar and flexed my aching hands. Next to my cooling bike sat another, older and well-used bike. It sparked a memory.
The bar is one of the last of a dying race. Dark, dingy and quiet. No inflated sports and beer advertisements. A few very old neon beer signs. The decor was mostly the wear and tear produced by generations of intense drinking and smoking. The feel reminded me of an old-time boxing gym; where professionals and hard working up and comers go to sweat and do the lonely job of becoming better at their obsession. No distractions. No leotards. No fruity drinks. The bar was a close cousin. Patrons worked drinks singly or in pairs. Solos sat silently, watching the muted, blurry tv or lost in the darkness behind the eyes. Pairs hunched together, talking in low mumbles or just companionable silence. Thats how it always was. No games. except the worn dartboard in the back. intelligible conversation ebbed and flowed, but never got intrusive. The jukebox, on the infrequent occasions when someone played something, was always low enough to not jostle a conversational elbow. This was a drinkers bar. Professional drinkers. The blender hadn't worked in at least a generation.
I set my gloves and gear on the bar and ordered a shot and beer from the bartender's nod. I looked around. The usual misshapen lumps of the regulars dotted the room like old tree stumps. One stood out, bathed in the blue white glow of a small electronic screen. The face in the glow was a ghostly profile from some time ago.
He looked up as I sat at the table across from him. "Hey Joe."
He looked up and his face split in a wide grin. "Hey hey! Chop, long time!" He closed the small device and reached across and shook my hand.
"Where you been Not Asshole?"
he shrugged, "Oh you know. wherever I can get to for as long as i can get there. you?"
My turn to shrug. "Oh you know. living the straight life. work, mortgage, the whole bit. I kinda wondered what you were up to."
Someone opened the door and entered the bar, letting the cold wind twist cocktail napkins and knock groans and protests from some of the stumps. With an apology the intruder leaned into the door and closed it.
We idly shot the shit for a while and enjoyed a couple rounds, two riders hunkered out of the storm. I finally got around to something that had been nibbling at me. And this involves a bit of a confession on my part. When I posted "The Death of Nikolai" it wasnt entirely mine to post. See, I had met Joe one winter as he was waiting for the riding weather to get better and he left me a ragged and stained notebook in answer to all my guy-on-the-sideline questions about him and the folks he ran around with. I took those diary-like words and strung it all together into "Nikolai". Next time I saw him, I showed him what i had done and asked if it would be okay to post it. He shrugged and said "Just keep it chill". So here I sat again, a couple years later and wanting to mine him for more.
"So whats with the fancy techno-doodad? I never figured you for a techdude."
He chuckled "This thing? Shit I dont know nothing about that stuff. Ivan gave it to me. It's so I can keep in touch with everyone without us having to track each other down by word of mouth and gypsy telegraph."
"So you guys use the net now"
"Some do. It aint like we are complete luddites y'know. The younger ones 'specially get into this stuff. Ivan has gotten himself into all sorts of tech type interests. Sort of branched out on his own after spending so much time with Billy Two Pines. But like anything, there is a Gypsy twist to it. According to Ivan the stuff that goes through here is just about untraceable and unbreakable. Sure is a lot faster than writing coded messages on bathroom walls and underpasses." He laughed.
"So is it just some sort of email chain or something?"
He shrugged. "I guess. Ivan tried to tell me how it worked, but he lost me pretty quick. Something about 'darknet', 'onion routing' and 'one time keys' or something. I dont get it. But pretty much if anyone tried to figure out what we were talking about, it would be pretty tough. Hell, according to Ivan, even if I plain old lost the thing, it wouldnt do anyone any good. He's a smart kid, so I just use it how he told me like I would do something that Billy told me."
As we talked, just catching up on folks we knew or heard about, idly speculating about events and other usual drinking talk; an idea started forming.
"So Joe...Y'know that Nikolai tale I pulled out of your notebook?"
"yeah"
"Well a lot of folks liked it. And they want more. And I was thinking...they might like to know more about you and the gypsies and the bucket. So maybe..well i was thinking..I could set up an email drop where I could forward stuff folks want to say to you or some of the others and you could respond. Folks might like that, y'know?"
He looked at me thoughtfully...
Email Joe
The bar is one of the last of a dying race. Dark, dingy and quiet. No inflated sports and beer advertisements. A few very old neon beer signs. The decor was mostly the wear and tear produced by generations of intense drinking and smoking. The feel reminded me of an old-time boxing gym; where professionals and hard working up and comers go to sweat and do the lonely job of becoming better at their obsession. No distractions. No leotards. No fruity drinks. The bar was a close cousin. Patrons worked drinks singly or in pairs. Solos sat silently, watching the muted, blurry tv or lost in the darkness behind the eyes. Pairs hunched together, talking in low mumbles or just companionable silence. Thats how it always was. No games. except the worn dartboard in the back. intelligible conversation ebbed and flowed, but never got intrusive. The jukebox, on the infrequent occasions when someone played something, was always low enough to not jostle a conversational elbow. This was a drinkers bar. Professional drinkers. The blender hadn't worked in at least a generation.
I set my gloves and gear on the bar and ordered a shot and beer from the bartender's nod. I looked around. The usual misshapen lumps of the regulars dotted the room like old tree stumps. One stood out, bathed in the blue white glow of a small electronic screen. The face in the glow was a ghostly profile from some time ago.
He looked up as I sat at the table across from him. "Hey Joe."
He looked up and his face split in a wide grin. "Hey hey! Chop, long time!" He closed the small device and reached across and shook my hand.
"Where you been Not Asshole?"
he shrugged, "Oh you know. wherever I can get to for as long as i can get there. you?"
My turn to shrug. "Oh you know. living the straight life. work, mortgage, the whole bit. I kinda wondered what you were up to."
Someone opened the door and entered the bar, letting the cold wind twist cocktail napkins and knock groans and protests from some of the stumps. With an apology the intruder leaned into the door and closed it.
We idly shot the shit for a while and enjoyed a couple rounds, two riders hunkered out of the storm. I finally got around to something that had been nibbling at me. And this involves a bit of a confession on my part. When I posted "The Death of Nikolai" it wasnt entirely mine to post. See, I had met Joe one winter as he was waiting for the riding weather to get better and he left me a ragged and stained notebook in answer to all my guy-on-the-sideline questions about him and the folks he ran around with. I took those diary-like words and strung it all together into "Nikolai". Next time I saw him, I showed him what i had done and asked if it would be okay to post it. He shrugged and said "Just keep it chill". So here I sat again, a couple years later and wanting to mine him for more.
"So whats with the fancy techno-doodad? I never figured you for a techdude."
He chuckled "This thing? Shit I dont know nothing about that stuff. Ivan gave it to me. It's so I can keep in touch with everyone without us having to track each other down by word of mouth and gypsy telegraph."
"So you guys use the net now"
"Some do. It aint like we are complete luddites y'know. The younger ones 'specially get into this stuff. Ivan has gotten himself into all sorts of tech type interests. Sort of branched out on his own after spending so much time with Billy Two Pines. But like anything, there is a Gypsy twist to it. According to Ivan the stuff that goes through here is just about untraceable and unbreakable. Sure is a lot faster than writing coded messages on bathroom walls and underpasses." He laughed.
"So is it just some sort of email chain or something?"
He shrugged. "I guess. Ivan tried to tell me how it worked, but he lost me pretty quick. Something about 'darknet', 'onion routing' and 'one time keys' or something. I dont get it. But pretty much if anyone tried to figure out what we were talking about, it would be pretty tough. Hell, according to Ivan, even if I plain old lost the thing, it wouldnt do anyone any good. He's a smart kid, so I just use it how he told me like I would do something that Billy told me."
As we talked, just catching up on folks we knew or heard about, idly speculating about events and other usual drinking talk; an idea started forming.
"So Joe...Y'know that Nikolai tale I pulled out of your notebook?"
"yeah"
"Well a lot of folks liked it. And they want more. And I was thinking...they might like to know more about you and the gypsies and the bucket. So maybe..well i was thinking..I could set up an email drop where I could forward stuff folks want to say to you or some of the others and you could respond. Folks might like that, y'know?"
He looked at me thoughtfully...
Email Joe
posted by Z at
9:18 PM
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