#dailywrites

Day 13 Adelaide's wasn't for tourists. For one thing, it was too small, just a modest four-hundred square foot saloon with three booths, a few tables, and the bar. For another, it was quiet, never a horn player nor juke-box to cause a ruckus. And since it was on the outskirts of the French Quarter it stayed just how Robby liked it: empty. Empty meant he didn't have to worry about a thousand dirty mits touching everything. It was paradise, the tabletops and floor were never sticky, the lights were always low, and Pete the bartender was, well, a neatnik, just like Rob. Being at Adelaide's almost made him forget. Well, until Pete put a paper down on the table in front of Robby. Pete was just doing what he always did, he couldn't have known what it would mean to Rob. He held his breath, his eyes going to the date even though he told them not to. Friday, June 13th 1957, was there, bold as you please. Carefully Rob pushed the newspaper away. His mind whispered "twice more" so he gave it two more little scoots. He could still see the date, black and thick like tar. But if he pushed it three more times it would end up on the floor, and that might be worse than just being able to see Friday the 13th. "Doin' alright there, Robby?" Pete asked while pouring Rob's usual gin and tonic. "Evening, Pete, I'm alright. How are you?" "Fine and dandy," Pete said with a wink. He came around the bar holding Robby's cocktail. He held the glass on the bottom with a cocktail napkin between his skin and the drink. "Good to hear," Rob said relieved when the glass was on the table. Friday the 13th meant trouble. But Adelaide's was his safe place, it was close and clean and he could relax here. He didn't want to think of anything outside this place. But this day? History would almost certainly repeat itself. Maybe he shouldn't have come here. Maybe he should have gone to one of the jazz joints up on Bourbon Street. He wouldn't mind seeing one of those places go up in smoke. If he left now, he'd take his bad luck with him, he was sure. He checked his watch, 6:47, that wouldn't work. He had to wait three minutes. Just three minutes. He was simply giving himself the heebie-jeebies. He knew his thoughts were just thoughts. Just thoughts. "Kickin' the habit?" Pete asked, nodding at the paper sitting at the edge of the table. Lifting his glass to take a drink so he wouldn't have to say anything, Rob gave what he hoped was a friendly shake of the head. "Missing out," Pete said. "There's a story in there about some eggheads over in Bywater loosin' their lab to Betsy. Rumor is, they were doing some strange things with animals. Seems there's been a half dozen ungodly creatures set free in the hurricane. "Nonsense," Robby tried to laugh. "Oh, I don't know," Pete gave him a big smile. "Scientists like to play God these days. Seems God gave them a warning, set their experiments free." "Pete, you can't really believe that there are mad scientists!" Robby laughed, he hoped it sounded incredulous, not nervous. "Queerer things have happened," the bartender shrugged. Robby shook his head. He didn't want to talk about this anymore. In the back of his mind a thousand dark things were stirring. He could hear the scrape of claws the whisper of scales. "Sounds like nonsense," Rob repeated. The creatures in his head grew horns and fangs. Goosebumps lifted the hair on his arms. The 13th wouldn't touch his bar. He had to get out. He looked down at his watch. 6:52! Damn! He'd have to wait until seven now. He sucked down another pull of his drink. What if one of the escaped experiments found it's way to Adelaide's? Unlikely. He told himself. He just needed to relax. Needed to focus his thoughts elsewhere. He couldn't let the dark parts of his thoughts come to the forefront. Dr. Moore told him when they started, he needed to try to refocus. Valium may be a woman's drug, but it sure did help Rob. He stood and excused himself headed for the can. Mother's little helper was Robby's little helper too. Though he'd never let any of his

Our moments exist past the cages of my bones. 

That space between absolute bliss and unbearable ache

Be there for that is the numb that will protect the beats in the hereafter