Harry has a drink of water

Harry sat down on the hard stool at the counter in the coffee shop. His stomach was still doing loop-de-loops from his night adventures, and to tell the truth, the memory of all the crème-de-menthes didn’t make things easier. He was feeling more than slightly green about the gills. It isn’t easy being green he muttered.



Harry ordered another glass of water. The disinterested waitress dropped the glass on the counter in front of Harry splashing its contents onto the pink countertop. Harry grasped the glass in both hands, tilted his head backwards, and took a mighty swig. Somewhere in a distant galaxy, a star exploded. He placed the glass back on the countertop spilling more of its contents on to the wet pink surface. Harry stared into the depths of the glass, stared through the churning waters of the glass, stared at the palms of his hands as they held the glass, and stared at the tattoos on his hands as they danced their chaotic dance of reflection and refraction in the glass. A fly landed on Harry’s nose, cleaned its legs, and left as Harry pondered the self-similar patterns of light and shadow on the glass. Somewhere in a closer galaxy, a star was collapsing into a black hole. Soon the prophetic waters stilled, and all there was, was, Harry Hero on the right and maybe, Dr. Maybe on the left.



To be continued…