A View From The Third Floor

It’s clear to me that sometimes, shit happens. Okay, we know this no big deal. NBD, as it were. However, sometimes things happen that leave me scratching my head thinking, “What the fuck just happened?” Two night ago, I am finally in bed. Me and the three dogs are comfortable. The brown noise is playing softly in the background. And then, I hear it. It sounds like there is a freakin’ cricket…

Outside the pub, chilled twilight is settling around the glen. The pub chimney allows lazy smoke to rise and wander off. The diurnal creatures of the forest head toward their respective homes for the night, while the nocturnal ones are rising, yawning and sniffing the air to gauge the mood of the forest. The pub itself is cozily lit, amber light shining from the windows. Inside, the hearth is…

It’s evening outside Sprinkles Mystic Pub. The evergreens stand in quiet, creaking judgment of the starkly naked foliage. The copper still is…well….still. The cold seems to wrap everything in a vacuum hush. A little field mouse shivers as it wanders out of its burrow and decides dinner can wait till breakfast. The blue neon of the sign above the door shines brightly in the newly darkened…

Sunshine plays along the forest floor, rodents chase each other foraging as they go. One lone dark elf naps against a tree—until the tree smacks him for snoring louder than a chainsaw cutting firewood. Inside the pub it’s bright and cheery for an afternoon. The jukebox is brightly kicked on, playing “You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)” by Dead or Alive. Hecate is sitting with Marge, both women…

It is a cold, wintry night at the pub. Snow blankets everything in sight. Somewhere in the little glade, a gecko freezes stiff and drops out of the tree it is climbing. Inside the pub, though, it’s lively and bright. Sprinkles’ hindquarters bounce to the jaunty music, while Hugo—at his customary bar stool nearest the door—taps one paw to the beat. Heddy’s heads, all four of them, weave back and…

It’s the one day a month Sprinkles Mystic Pub goes dark: Inventory Day.The blue neon sign — usually buzzing like a caffeinated beetle — sits unlit, a dull outline against the window. A crooked placard hangs on the front door, the word CLOSED scrawled across it with the energy of someone who meant it. Inside, the pub is dim and still, save for Lionel Richie crooning Hello softly from the jukebox…

And another thing……the fashion industry is slowly becoming the bane of my existence. Why? You might ask if you were really interested. Well, I’ll tell you. I am currently looking into a new wardrobe for myself. I deserve it, don’t judge. For some fucked up reason, the fashion industry has taken it upon itself to me entirely narrow sighted when it comes to who they are truly outfitting. As I am…

Sprinkles Mystic Pub has been quiet all day. The sun droops, shadows stretching long across the tables. Sprinkles wipes down the bar for the tenth time; Wizzle crawls on all fours on the floor, muttering to himself. Hecate and her Maus sit at their usual table—she has one finger, second knuckle deep in a Hydra’s Headache, stirring it counterclockwise. Gillberta sways gently to the jazzy rendition…

The pub door creaked open, and every head turned. Conversation froze mid-sentence, the air thick with surprise and salt. Hugo, perched on the stool nearest the door, clicked his beak in disgust. “Legs,” he muttered, shaking his head. Rufus, whose chair had been precariously balanced on two legs, leaned a little too far back and toppled sideways with a yelp. One of Heddy’s heads whistled low,…

You take care of your dog, right? I have three. I take care of my dogs. I make their food, I give them treats, and I pet and pay attention to them as often as possible. And then, the clippers come out and they hate me. I’ve tried all sorts of clippers, too. The ones that buzz, the ones that are huge and could clip the toenails of an Orc. I’ve tried the ones that don’t make noise, the ones that…

Today, I woke up thinking to myself….well, to be honest I wake up everyday thinking at least 40 different things. However, today, I have wished for a “lackluster” day. You wouldn’t think that would be too much to ask for, right? We shall see. You might be wondering what a “lackluster” day is like. Well, it’s the kind of day where things that work, work. Things that are broken stay broken.…

Sprinkles Mystic Pub is in full swing party mode. Decorations are everywhere, confetti carpets the floor, and the drinks are flowing like waterfalls. Rufus is at his customary table, two legs of his chair suspended as he leans back. Hugo sits at the end of the bar nearest the door, sipping his Ambrosia Lite and complaining to anyone who’ll listen that his wife decided he needed to “lay off the…