Re: Cass & Burden: the Mean Eyed Cat
Burden, he didn't know a thing about the lives of the drinkers, not beyond what they chose to tell him. But he saw their faces and heard their voices. Their smiles carried plenty bright in happy tones when they were celebrating, and their sadness echoed from parted lips as their eyes watered. There were feelings in-between, and he reckoned every single one was special and meaningful, and even the bad feelings were a sign of being alive. Burden, he reckoned so long as there was life then there was hope.
"Music?" he asked, clarifying about the constant she made reference to. "I ain't sure it's a constant, but sound is, and I reckon that's near the same. There's music in everything, and not just what's conventional, and even folks that can't hear like we do, they hear something of their own." But he didn't know a thing about cameras or paintbrushes, so he quit with the teasing and took to listening careful as he poured her scotch neat.
"I ain't good with a paintbrush neither, and I never have held a camera, but I reckon memories are worth capturing, just so long as they don't take the place of living," he said honestly, capping the scotch and tucking back beneath the counter. He pulled the dishcloth from his shoulder, and he wiped down where the bottle had rested on the counter. "How's the bar new? I been told it's been in town a whole long while. Are you new?" Hereabouts, he meant.