A Rum Shop

Conversation-soaked floors polished with years of spilled drinks. Open doors overflowing laughter and spilling people onto the pavement outside.

This place could be a home coming or a vat of tar depending on how you navigated life and alcohol. If buildings had ears this one would ask you to keep it down, hungover with decades of loud music, brash voices weaving stories, tales and lies. Sturdy and blue, an attic brain filled with storage and confessions. Closing doors late every night, eager to open for the next chapter to be written.