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Wordplay
The Beer is Nice, but the Whiskey
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The Beer is Nice, but the Whiskey

Immersive Audio Wordplay Experience
4

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There is a feeling I get walking into an underground bar. The kind with a staircase that leads you down into the soft belly of earth. The kind with no windows, and dark, amber lighting. Jazz playing from the four-piece on a slightly raised stage. That’s a place. That’s a place I can sink my teeth into, and taste the history of it. The energy goes bop bop bop ba dum bop bop dabu dabu dabu dabu dum damn! Whiskey please!

I love encouraging the bartender with a compliment. Maybe he’ll give me a little extra on the pour, what do you say Sam? The music rides through my glass and I can see the waves of the B flat ripple along the circular surface of my ten year aged in oak. The beer is nice here, but the whiskey; lord have mercy.

She is wearing a black dress, tighter to the body, no loosey goosey stuff tonight. I can only pretend to have the words, the proper phraseology of genius men that would send her dark brown hair swinging left of her near perfect design of a face, lord have mercy, and locking her full attention to me standing behind her barstool. How many men have died here tonight? Right in the very spot I stand? I can feel the pools of blood beneath my shoes. Oh, my black leather shoes, soaked in death.

We danced, and she pulled me closer to her, a true sign I was in over my head. Gladly. The saxophone player ripped on some high notes, as the bass player slapped to hold the whole thing together. The chocolatey atmosphere gave off an energy that invigorated us, me, her. A kiss on the cheek was all she left me. Damn. Worth it.

Dreams can send a man into insanity, pushing the reality of his core to the brink. She was my dream. I’ll call her Vivian and remember her red lipstick still stuck to my face. Mental picture saved. The cracking of the broom off of the chairs tell the folks it is time to fly. Be gone you drunkards. Sam laughs at the one’s he overserved as he wipes down some highball glasses.

“Vivian! Where are you?!” The wet street echoes the footsteps that tap upon it, while the few cars left at this hour provide a shhhhhhwwwww sound, passing my raised hand. “Taxi! Vivian!” Either one come save me goddamnit. Three hours till dawn. Might as well run home. Seventeen blocks and all of my thoughts between these monstrous buildings all looking over my shoulder. And I’m off!

See you tomorrow whiskey man. Maybe I’ll be so lucky to get that drink, hear those tunes, have that dance, receive that kiss, and run underneath the stars. Goodnight sweet Viv, you did me in. I hope I remember your face in the morning, damnit I hope.


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*Copyright Aaron Massey - Steel Valley Productions, SVP, LLC

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Wordplay
An immersive auditory experience of writing performed by Aaron Massey
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