Noon Escape in San Diego
By Jon Singer
Noon Escape in San Diego
Author: Jon Singer
The dim, cool air of O'Malley's was a balm against the San Diego sun. Joe slumped onto a barstool, the worn leather sighing beneath him. Noon. Freedom, for an hour at least, from spreadsheets and fluorescent lights. He signaled Maggie, the barmaid, a stout woman with a cascade of fiery red hair pulled back in a messy bun. Her green eyes crinkled with a knowing smile.
"Rough morning, Joe?" she asked, her voice a pleasant rasp as she placed a frosty mug of Stone IPA in front of him.
"You have no idea," Joe mumbled, already halfway through the first gulp. The bitterness bit back at the lingering taste of office coffee. He watched the condensation bead on the glass, a small, temporary world forming and dissolving. This was his escape, however fleeting.
The bitterness of the IPA was exactly what he needed. Joe took another sip, the cool liquid washing away the day’s anxieties. For a moment, the low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses almost lulled him into a sense of peace.
Just then, the bar door swung open with a bang, the sudden intrusion silencing the room for a split second. A tall man in a dark, impeccably tailored suit stormed in. He was all sharp angles and controlled energy, his dark hair slicked back, revealing a high forehead and eyes that seemed to bore into everything they surveyed. His gaze swept across the room, lingering on faces, dismissing them, until they locked onto Joe. A flicker of something unreadable – recognition? – tightened the man’s already grim expression.
Joe felt a prickle of unease as the tall man advanced, each step deliberate, each footfall echoing slightly in the sudden quiet. The man stopped directly in front of him, his shadow falling across the bar.
"Joe," the man said, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate in Joe’s chest. "We need to talk."
Before Joe could respond, he took another swig of the IPA. This time, something was different. The cool bitterness transformed into a warm, tingling sensation that spread from his stomach outwards. It wasn't just the alcohol; it was something else entirely. A rush of power surged through him, an unexpected jolt that made his senses sharpen, his vision clearer. What *was* this? He felt…invigorated, almost superhuman.
Maggie, the bartender, a woman with fiery red hair pulled back in a severe bun, watched the exchange with open curiosity, polishing a glass with unnecessary vigor.
"About what?" Joe managed, the word feeling thick and clumsy on his tongue. He focused on the man's dark eyes, trying to decipher the intent behind them. The surge of energy from the IPA was fading, leaving a jittery residue in its wake.
The tall man ignored the question, his gaze flicking towards Maggie, who was now openly eavesdropping. He lowered his voice. "Not here." He reached out, his hand surprisingly gentle as he grasped Joe's wrist. It was then, as the cuff of the impeccably tailored suit slid back, that Joe saw it. A small, intricate tattoo on the man's wrist. A circle bisected by a jagged line, almost hidden amongst the veins. A symbol Joe had seen only once before, etched into the brittle, yellowed pages of an ancient book he'd stumbled upon years ago in a dusty antique book shelf in the bowels of the SDSU library. The book had spoken of forgotten powers, of hidden lineages...
Panic flared in Joe's chest, eclipsing the lingering buzz from the IPA. The symbol… it couldn't be. He tried to pull his wrist away, but the man's grip tightened, surprisingly strong.
Before Joe could react, the bar was plunged into darkness. The sudden blackness was absolute, disorienting. The clatter of dropped glasses followed, a chorus of startled gasps rising above the sudden silence. The low hum of conversation had vanished, replaced by a new sound, a soft, almost imperceptible susurrus. It was the sound of whispers, swirling around him like a phantom breeze, too indistinct to understand, yet undeniably present.
The tall man released Joe's wrist and turned towards Maggie, who was frozen behind the bar, her fiery red hair barely visible in the dim emergency lighting that flickered to life moments later. He regarded her with a knowing look, a hint of something almost… pity? "It's time," he said cryptically, his voice now barely audible above the rising murmur of the bar patrons.
Panic flared in Joe's chest, eclipsing the lingering buzz from the IPA. The symbol… it couldn't be. He tried to pull his wrist away, but the man's grip tightened, surprisingly strong.
Before Joe could react, the bar was plunged into darkness. The sudden blackness was absolute, disorienting. The clatter of dropped glasses followed, a chorus of startled gasps rising above the sudden silence. The low hum of conversation had vanished, replaced by a new sound, a soft, almost imperceptible susurrus. It was the sound of whispers, swirling around him like a phantom breeze, too indistinct to understand, yet undeniably present.
The tall man released Joe's wrist and turned towards Maggie, who was frozen behind the bar, her fiery red hair barely visible in the dim emergency lighting that flickered to life moments later. He regarded her with a knowing look, a hint of something almost… pity? "It's time," he said cryptically, his voice now barely audible above the rising murmur of the bar patrons.
Just then, a loud crash came from the back of the bar, followed by a deep rumble. The floor beneath Joe's feet began to tremble, and the tall man looked around in panic. "This wasn't supposed to happen," he gasped.
The floor gave way. Joe and the tall man plunged into darkness, the shouts and clatter of O'Malley's fading into a muffled echo above. The fall was short, but jarring, landing them on something surprisingly soft and yielding.
Then, light. Not the flickering emergency lights of the bar, but a warm, golden radiance that seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once. Joe blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden shift. He was standing in a vast hall, the air thick with the scent of hops and roasted barley. Before him stood three figures, each radiating an aura of immense power and… well, beer. They were the Beer Gods. One was a stout, jovial figure with a frothy white beard; another, lean and wiry, crackled with an electric, hoppy energy; the last was serene, wreathed in a calming, malty aroma.
The jovial one boomed, "Joseph! We have been watching you." His voice resonated like the deep thrum of a brewing vat. "Your talent… once in a generation. We will imbue you with powers."
Joe stared, speechless, at the three figures. He felt a tingling sensation spread through his body, starting from the spot on his wrist where the tall man had gripped him. It was like a thousand tiny bubbles of IPA fizzing beneath his skin. The lean, wiry Beer God stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with an almost manic intensity.
"Power flows through you now, Joseph," he rasped, his voice like the grinding of hops in a mill. "But power untested is power wasted." He snapped his fingers, and the hall shimmered. Before Joe could blink, the golden radiance had faded, replaced by the familiar, musty air of a dusty antique shop.
"Your test," the Serene Beer God intoned, his voice a calming balm against the wiry god's energy, "is to discern the true brew from the imitation. Choose wisely, Joseph." He gestured towards a cluttered shelf filled with dusty bottles. The test had begun.
Dust motes danced in the weak sunlight filtering through the grimy windows of the antique shop. The air hung thick with the scent of aged paper, polished wood, and something vaguely… skunky. Joe coughed, trying to clear his head. The sudden shift from the radiant hall to this cramped, cluttered space had left him disoriented.
He scanned the shelf, a chaotic jumble of labels peeling from mismatched bottles. "What am I looking for, exactly?" he asked, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space.
The Jovial Beer God chuckled, his booming voice somehow contained within the small shop. "You'll know it when you see it, Joseph. Trust your senses. Trust… the beer." He winked, and a faint aroma of caramel and roasted nuts wafted towards Joe, a tantalizing hint of what might lie hidden amongst the dusty bottles. Joe took a deep breath and began to examine the bottles one by one.
He squinted, running a finger along a bottle covered in a thick layer of grime. "This is boring," Joe muttered.
The Lean Beer God's voice, sharp and impatient, cut through the musty air. "Get on with it, Joseph. Time is ale, and waits for no man."
Suddenly, Joe spotted it. Tucked away behind a chipped porcelain doll, was a bottle unlike the others. It glowed with a faint, inner light, the label simply reading "Elixir." He reached for it, a strange pull drawing him in. He uncorked it and took a swig. It tasted like liquid sunshine and regret. He instantly felt a surge of power, but with it came a wave of dizziness. He stumbled, knocking over a towering stack of antique radios, which crashed to the floor in a cacophony of shattering glass and twisted metal. The serene Beer God sighed. "So it begins," he said. Joe, now noticeably drunk and glowing faintly, grinned sheepishly. "Oops? I have superpowers now, right? But also...I'm not drunk, you're durnk."
The Jovial Beer God chuckled, unfazed by the destruction. "Indeed, Joseph. Now you possess a…heightened awareness."
Joe, still reeling from the taste of liquid sunshine and the symphony of destruction he'd caused, blinked. "Awareness of what? My clumsiness?" He swayed slightly, the faint glow around him flickering like a faulty neon sign.
Suddenly, a buzz vibrated in his pocket. He fished out his phone, squinting at the screen. An unknown number. A text: 'Meet me at the SDSU library in one hour. No questions.' He frowned, uncertainty gnawing at him beneath the beer-induced haze and the burgeoning superpowers. Who would be contacting him this way? And why? The Beer Gods watched him expectantly, their expressions unreadable.
"Heightened awareness of the… possibilities, Joseph," the Serene Beer God corrected, his voice a calming balm amidst the chaos.
Before Joe could respond, his phone buzzed again. This time, it was a call. He answered, holding the phone to his ear. "Hello?"
"Joe? It's Bender." The voice was instantly recognizable – it was Bender, Joe's best buddy from college. Former rower, tall and slender with perpetually sun-kissed skin from his days on the water. "Listen, I need to tell you about this guy I met at O'Malley's last week," Bender said, his voice urgent. "It's kind of a long story, but trust me, you need to hear this. Can you meet me?"
Joe's eyebrows shot up. "Bender? What's going on? I just got a weird text telling me to go to the library."
"That was me," Bender admitted. "Look, it's complicated. Just… meet me there, okay? Back entrance, by the loading dock. An hour. Please, Joe, this is important." Before Joe could press him for details, Bender hung up.
The Beer Gods were watching him, the Jovial one now looking uncharacteristically serious. Joe sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, that was… cryptic. Seems like my day just keeps getting weirder." He looked at the Beer Gods. "I guess this is it? I go meet my friend?"
The Serene Beer God nodded slowly. "Indeed, Joseph. Your path unfolds. But remember," he added, his eyes twinkling slightly, "the greatest stories are often found not in radiant halls, but in the musty rooms and dusty antique shops of the everyday world."
Joe nodded, a strange mix of apprehension and excitement bubbling within him. He knew, with a certainty that went beyond mere intuition, that his life had irrevocably changed.
That was the end of book 1.
Story Content
The dim, cool air of O'Malley's was a balm against the San Diego sun. Joe slumped onto a barstool, the worn leather sighing beneath him. Noon. Freedom, for an hour at least, from spreadsheets and fluorescent lights. He signaled Maggie, the barmaid, a stout woman with a cascade of fiery red hair pulled back in a messy bun. Her green eyes crinkled with a knowing smile.
"Rough morning, Joe?" she asked, her voice a pleasant rasp as she placed a frosty mug of Stone IPA in front of him.
"You have no idea," Joe mumbled, already halfway through the first gulp. The bitterness bit back at the lingering taste of office coffee. He watched the condensation bead on the glass, a small, temporary world forming and dissolving. This was his escape, however fleeting.
The bitterness of the IPA was exactly what he needed. Joe took another sip, the cool liquid washing away the day’s anxieties. For a moment, the low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses almost lulled him into a sense of peace.
Just then, the bar door swung open with a bang, the sudden intrusion silencing the room for a split second. A tall man in a dark, impeccably tailored suit stormed in. He was all sharp angles and controlled energy, his dark hair slicked back, revealing a high forehead and eyes that seemed to bore into everything they surveyed. His gaze swept across the room, lingering on faces, dismissing them, until they locked onto Joe. A flicker of something unreadable – recognition? – tightened the man’s already grim expression.
Joe felt a prickle of unease as the tall man advanced, each step deliberate, each footfall echoing slightly in the sudden quiet. The man stopped directly in front of him, his shadow falling across the bar.
"Joe," the man said, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate in Joe’s chest. "We need to talk."
Before Joe could respond, he took another swig of the IPA. This time, something was different. The cool bitterness transformed into a warm, tingling sensation that spread from his stomach outwards. It wasn't just the alcohol; it was something else entirely. A rush of power surged through him, an unexpected jolt that made his senses sharpen, his vision clearer. What *was* this? He felt…invigorated, almost superhuman.
Maggie, the bartender, a woman with fiery red hair pulled back in a severe bun, watched the exchange with open curiosity, polishing a glass with unnecessary vigor.
"About what?" Joe managed, the word feeling thick and clumsy on his tongue. He focused on the man's dark eyes, trying to decipher the intent behind them. The surge of energy from the IPA was fading, leaving a jittery residue in its wake.
The tall man ignored the question, his gaze flicking towards Maggie, who was now openly eavesdropping. He lowered his voice. "Not here." He reached out, his hand surprisingly gentle as he grasped Joe's wrist. It was then, as the cuff of the impeccably tailored suit slid back, that Joe saw it. A small, intricate tattoo on the man's wrist. A circle bisected by a jagged line, almost hidden amongst the veins. A symbol Joe had seen only once before, etched into the brittle, yellowed pages of an ancient book he'd stumbled upon years ago in a dusty antique book shelf in the bowels of the SDSU library. The book had spoken of forgotten powers, of hidden lineages...
Panic flared in Joe's chest, eclipsing the lingering buzz from the IPA. The symbol… it couldn't be. He tried to pull his wrist away, but the man's grip tightened, surprisingly strong.
Before Joe could react, the bar was plunged into darkness. The sudden blackness was absolute, disorienting. The clatter of dropped glasses followed, a chorus of startled gasps rising above the sudden silence. The low hum of conversation had vanished, replaced by a new sound, a soft, almost imperceptible susurrus. It was the sound of whispers, swirling around him like a phantom breeze, too indistinct to understand, yet undeniably present.
The tall man released Joe's wrist and turned towards Maggie, who was frozen behind the bar, her fiery red hair barely visible in the dim emergency lighting that flickered to life moments later. He regarded her with a knowing look, a hint of something almost… pity? "It's time," he said cryptically, his voice now barely audible above the rising murmur of the bar patrons.
Panic flared in Joe's chest, eclipsing the lingering buzz from the IPA. The symbol… it couldn't be. He tried to pull his wrist away, but the man's grip tightened, surprisingly strong.
Before Joe could react, the bar was plunged into darkness. The sudden blackness was absolute, disorienting. The clatter of dropped glasses followed, a chorus of startled gasps rising above the sudden silence. The low hum of conversation had vanished, replaced by a new sound, a soft, almost imperceptible susurrus. It was the sound of whispers, swirling around him like a phantom breeze, too indistinct to understand, yet undeniably present.
The tall man released Joe's wrist and turned towards Maggie, who was frozen behind the bar, her fiery red hair barely visible in the dim emergency lighting that flickered to life moments later. He regarded her with a knowing look, a hint of something almost… pity? "It's time," he said cryptically, his voice now barely audible above the rising murmur of the bar patrons.
Just then, a loud crash came from the back of the bar, followed by a deep rumble. The floor beneath Joe's feet began to tremble, and the tall man looked around in panic. "This wasn't supposed to happen," he gasped.
The floor gave way. Joe and the tall man plunged into darkness, the shouts and clatter of O'Malley's fading into a muffled echo above. The fall was short, but jarring, landing them on something surprisingly soft and yielding.
Then, light. Not the flickering emergency lights of the bar, but a warm, golden radiance that seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once. Joe blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden shift. He was standing in a vast hall, the air thick with the scent of hops and roasted barley. Before him stood three figures, each radiating an aura of immense power and… well, beer. They were the Beer Gods. One was a stout, jovial figure with a frothy white beard; another, lean and wiry, crackled with an electric, hoppy energy; the last was serene, wreathed in a calming, malty aroma.
The jovial one boomed, "Joseph! We have been watching you." His voice resonated like the deep thrum of a brewing vat. "Your talent… once in a generation. We will imbue you with powers."
Joe stared, speechless, at the three figures. He felt a tingling sensation spread through his body, starting from the spot on his wrist where the tall man had gripped him. It was like a thousand tiny bubbles of IPA fizzing beneath his skin. The lean, wiry Beer God stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with an almost manic intensity.
"Power flows through you now, Joseph," he rasped, his voice like the grinding of hops in a mill. "But power untested is power wasted." He snapped his fingers, and the hall shimmered. Before Joe could blink, the golden radiance had faded, replaced by the familiar, musty air of a dusty antique shop.
"Your test," the Serene Beer God intoned, his voice a calming balm against the wiry god's energy, "is to discern the true brew from the imitation. Choose wisely, Joseph." He gestured towards a cluttered shelf filled with dusty bottles. The test had begun.
Dust motes danced in the weak sunlight filtering through the grimy windows of the antique shop. The air hung thick with the scent of aged paper, polished wood, and something vaguely… skunky. Joe coughed, trying to clear his head. The sudden shift from the radiant hall to this cramped, cluttered space had left him disoriented.
He scanned the shelf, a chaotic jumble of labels peeling from mismatched bottles. "What am I looking for, exactly?" he asked, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space.
The Jovial Beer God chuckled, his booming voice somehow contained within the small shop. "You'll know it when you see it, Joseph. Trust your senses. Trust… the beer." He winked, and a faint aroma of caramel and roasted nuts wafted towards Joe, a tantalizing hint of what might lie hidden amongst the dusty bottles. Joe took a deep breath and began to examine the bottles one by one.
He squinted, running a finger along a bottle covered in a thick layer of grime. "This is boring," Joe muttered.
The Lean Beer God's voice, sharp and impatient, cut through the musty air. "Get on with it, Joseph. Time is ale, and waits for no man."
Suddenly, Joe spotted it. Tucked away behind a chipped porcelain doll, was a bottle unlike the others. It glowed with a faint, inner light, the label simply reading "Elixir." He reached for it, a strange pull drawing him in. He uncorked it and took a swig. It tasted like liquid sunshine and regret. He instantly felt a surge of power, but with it came a wave of dizziness. He stumbled, knocking over a towering stack of antique radios, which crashed to the floor in a cacophony of shattering glass and twisted metal. The serene Beer God sighed. "So it begins," he said. Joe, now noticeably drunk and glowing faintly, grinned sheepishly. "Oops? I have superpowers now, right? But also...I'm not drunk, you're durnk."
The Jovial Beer God chuckled, unfazed by the destruction. "Indeed, Joseph. Now you possess a…heightened awareness."
Joe, still reeling from the taste of liquid sunshine and the symphony of destruction he'd caused, blinked. "Awareness of what? My clumsiness?" He swayed slightly, the faint glow around him flickering like a faulty neon sign.
Suddenly, a buzz vibrated in his pocket. He fished out his phone, squinting at the screen. An unknown number. A text: 'Meet me at the SDSU library in one hour. No questions.' He frowned, uncertainty gnawing at him beneath the beer-induced haze and the burgeoning superpowers. Who would be contacting him this way? And why? The Beer Gods watched him expectantly, their expressions unreadable.
"Heightened awareness of the… possibilities, Joseph," the Serene Beer God corrected, his voice a calming balm amidst the chaos.
Before Joe could respond, his phone buzzed again. This time, it was a call. He answered, holding the phone to his ear. "Hello?"
"Joe? It's Bender." The voice was instantly recognizable – it was Bender, Joe's best buddy from college. Former rower, tall and slender with perpetually sun-kissed skin from his days on the water. "Listen, I need to tell you about this guy I met at O'Malley's last week," Bender said, his voice urgent. "It's kind of a long story, but trust me, you need to hear this. Can you meet me?"
Joe's eyebrows shot up. "Bender? What's going on? I just got a weird text telling me to go to the library."
"That was me," Bender admitted. "Look, it's complicated. Just… meet me there, okay? Back entrance, by the loading dock. An hour. Please, Joe, this is important." Before Joe could press him for details, Bender hung up.
The Beer Gods were watching him, the Jovial one now looking uncharacteristically serious. Joe sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, that was… cryptic. Seems like my day just keeps getting weirder." He looked at the Beer Gods. "I guess this is it? I go meet my friend?"
The Serene Beer God nodded slowly. "Indeed, Joseph. Your path unfolds. But remember," he added, his eyes twinkling slightly, "the greatest stories are often found not in radiant halls, but in the musty rooms and dusty antique shops of the everyday world."
Joe nodded, a strange mix of apprehension and excitement bubbling within him. He knew, with a certainty that went beyond mere intuition, that his life had irrevocably changed.
That was the end of book 1.
Synopsis
In the heart of San Diego, Joe seeks solace from his mundane job at O'Malley's bar. As he confides in Maggie, the perceptive barmaid, he uncovers deeper struggles. Noon Escape in San Diego explores Joe's quest for meaning, unexpected connections, and the possibility of breaking free from his routine.
