  You did not frequent bars or taverns in your youth; they have always been the type of establishment advertised as fun, a way to meet people and socialize under the warm ambience of the room, but most often sent you patients with alcohol-induced headaches who could have avoided the visit with a little rest. It looks as though things havenât changed a whole lot, but you find yourself in one anyway and youâre -- not entirely sure why.
  Though you are not a doctor in the formal sense of the word anymore, you are never off the clock. You canât drink on a job that requires you to be capable at all times, and you wonât. Nobody seems to be overindulging to the point where you would need to intervene, fortunately -- and they appear to offer meals. You make a selection and pay -- with their offered help when you cannot get this thing to work -- and turn towards the rest of the bar with a quiet, watchful eye.
  The music is pleasant, melodic keystrokes filling the air, a soft complement to the ongoing conversations. You decide to approach the pianist to offer your compliments, and pause -- you know this person, even if youâve never spoken. He wasnât very talkative, you recall, and maybe for good reason; better to be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt, and all that. You know quite a few people from the manor who removed doubt, to your displeasure.Â
  You wait patiently until heâs finished, and then some, before you speak up.
  âGreetings, Mr. Carl. I didnât know you played.â
@rebirthedâ plays for a captive audience !
