February the Sixteenth. Opus and the Daily Practice. Supplies.

When the sun gets low behind the bar, He checks receiving. Crates and boxes wrapped in cellophane come through and he drags them down into the dark of the storm cellar, away from the gold sunset at five or six o’clock. Here, amid the kegs and dusty bottles, he takes his time marking the orders in the shipment with little check marks from his pencil. Top Shelf. Mid Tiers. Bottom Shelf. Bottles of beer. Bottles of ale. Check. Check. Check. Upstairs, the bar staff comes in. Check. Young and attractive people who work for tips at night so they can study and go on to get good jobs and take selfies together out in the sunshine. Check. He was going to be a football star but nothing went right. Check. He spends time extra organizing in the cellar. Check. Making sure everything is where it should be. FDM.