Re: Cass & Burden: the Mean Eyed Cat
She didn't stand out to him in any special way, not in any way that would make Burden single her out. She was real normal in her white, and Burden appreciated the normalcy of folks. He didn't think everyone had to be something bright and burning, special or magical. He reckoned regular folks, folks just like him, were as interesting as the ones on television and on stages, on celluloid and in books. This bar, it was filled with folks that were just folks. Some of them were surely special beneath the skin, but on the surface they were all the same, and Burden liked that about this job. It was something like busking, getting the chance to look at folks walking in and out and around, and he liked people real well.
But he served the two folks on the stool next to the one she'd claimed, and he tossed his dishcloth to hang over his left shoulder, and he stopped in front of her. "Can I get you something?" he asked, his voice still clinging hard to the South, but the words stretched out and slowed. His tone was low, quiet, and still real clear over Johnny. And if she didn't want a drink, he wouldn't send her out. He let plenty of folks stay and sit in the warmth, and he served them soda or water. The owner of the place wasn't nowhere in town, and Burden did how he pleased. As long as a profit was turned, then no one came to check on his doings.
The song changed, and Burden placed his palms on the counter in front of the woman with the weedy-brown hair. His eyes were pale as could be, while still being blue, and his hair was golden, and his smile said she could take long as she needed to order her drink. The place was crowded, but no one was shoving or pushing, and no beer bottles had been broken yet. It was a calm night, one where voices all served as percussion to Johnny singing about God's doings. Burden, he liked the song. It felt real to him, and it felt real all the way down to the marrow.