"You are the author...right?" she asks once he stops puffing his ill lit cigarette.
"Author of what?" he sharply answers as the bartender brings him another beverage.
They stare into nothing, both perhaps plotting, constructing or otherwise thinking.
"I'm sorry for coming to you, for this, but do you know who wrote the 'War Journal'?"
"I knew him," he says, " knew him well..."
His voice trails off into the chaos of color that is the watering hole.
"Can you tell me anything about him?" she asks, encouraged ,"anything?"
"He was a troubled man, very troubled," the man trembles as he explains and looks towards the newly dewed drink in front of him."Lots of demons, demons drive men like him..."
His voice again trails into the music as he turns to the young lady prodding him, she finally sees scars on his face, hidden by facial hair and lighting. His gaze freezes her thoughts, as in slow motion, scars over his mouth and near his eyes, ones clearly damaged by some past fight. A twitch in his lips catches her attention.
"You knew him personally didn't you?" she asks in a pleading matter.
"Don't try to search for his story, it will only lead to trouble," he murmurs as he finally takes a drink, "that devil is better left dead and gone."
They sit in silence between each other, the music now faintly a memory.
"He'll be back soon.." the man protests as he leaves the bar top.
"He'll be back in a deafening way, he never conquered his ghosts, he has to come back, to settle things."
He stops while re-lighting that long burnt-out cigarette
"When?" she asks, perplexed, "can I talk to him?"
The man laughs as ashes fall at his feet.
"He's already back," he laughs, "just look harder."