Charlii straightened her back, listenint to the many cracks. She shook her hand, loosing the tension in her fingers and wrist. The pen in her fingers slipped to the floor, and she stood to reach for it.
Ding, Ding, Ding sounded in the darkened bar. Balder’s voice boomed. “Last call.”
“Zikes!” exclaimed Charlii. “How long have I been here?” She looked at the notebook in front of her with her works scrolled across the pages. She turned pages over, seeing each page filled with lean lettering and pensive words.
Balder set a glass in front of her. “A toast,” he said, lifting his glass. “To words of tomorrow from the thoughts of today.”
Charlii saw Balder’s eyes through the glass. A light sparkled in the green cloud of his glass.
She lifted her own glass. “And to pasts long gone that guide our morrows.”
Balder drank, then rang the bell a final time.
Zooks! Our time is gone. We’ve zipped and zagged, zoomed and zwacked our spirits through. Zymase guides the guilds to set the bar, but spirit guides the heart that leads the soul. Through trials and harmonies sung not yet, Zing past apprehension’s arrows. At our zenith, be not zhlobs with zero heart, but let spirits zest with souls made whole. Built by sires with temperance and with time, fly your spirit in future’s light. Salute tomorrow to honored past. Ferment tomorrow’s new, And be blessed as honored ancients.
