The flimsy doors opened onto the pub. He had passed a bridge over water while getting there and drove under another bridge. It didn't feel much warmer than outside. An orange light was cast from an oil lamp, which filled the room with unpleasant incense. The nearby trees cast a gnarly shadow upon the walls. The rooms were ghost-quiet except for an old phonograph playing Jazz which stood where the stage used to be. Henry slumped into his usual seat and stared at the opposite wall, which was scattered with footprints of pictures removed recently. Oddly, he doesn’t remember removing them. Must be the fairies. He laughed at himself. 

'Some folks were meant to live in clover 
But they are such a chosen few' 

The phonograph played. Henry happened to love life’s dashes of ceremonial drama. With a few high keys on the piano crescendoing into low, the shade of a tragedy loomed the tavern. He thought to himself, nothing gets better than blues. 

"Bartender, get me a scotch whisky." He doffed the bright blue fedora and lit a cigarette. He turned to a neatly dress man, "Fancy one?" 

"I will pass," said Mr. Ferret, who was a portly fellow that sat to his left. "Say, had the toy business been any better recently?" 

He sighed. 

"Mr. Doughlas?" 

" Ah, yes." Henry Doughlas coughed and said, "The business? It's been fine really. The demand is diminishing but what can I say? I'm a starting entrepreneur." 

'But moonbeams being gold are something I can't behold 
'Cause I was born to be blue' 

"Though, the company would need just a bit more funding. We are hitting a tough patch. How’s it been for your family. I heard you finally found your daughter that book she was looking for." Henry snuffed out the cigarette and placed it within the ash tray.  

The moonlight peered through the door. It was getting late. A gush of wind engulfed Henry’s underdressed body. Mr. Ferret sat there quietly for a few seconds, as if contemplating something. "What about that Jackie fellow, he used to be a good friend of yours. I’m sure he can spare some pennies for an old collaborator.” 

"I called him the other day," Henry let out a sarcastic snicker, "His secretary answered and gave the phone to Jackie. He said he was no Jackie and asked me to call him 'Mr. Jackson' and said that he didn't remember me." 

"Mr. Jackson?" Mr. Ferret growled, "Who does he think he is?" 

'I'd like to laugh, but nothing strikes me funny 
Now my world's a faded pastel' 

"We used to climb that walnut tree within Jackie's yard and steal bright red apples from Mrs. Madaline. She used to get furious and wave her cane around like an old witch as if it'd do anything." Henry diverted the topic. 

"And you used to break your teeth when you were climbing out of the tree." Mr. Ferret burst out in laughter. He sounded like a bull when he laughed. "We could hear the belt as your old man spanked you. Whhp." 

"Says you, who was the one who didn't dare climb the tree. You remember your nickname, don't you? Chicken." 

Mr. Ferret's face glowed in red. "I'm pretty sure that was you..." 

"No, it was you." They both burst out in uncontrolled laughter. 

"And you had that picture, right? You haven't thrown it away, surely?" Mr. Ferret's laughter slowly faded into a solemn look. 

"No, of course I haven't," He reached into his breast pocket and produced a folded square which unraveled into a faded black-and-white photo. "I have more"  

"Bahahaa" They burst out in laughter once more. 

"You looked so much cleverer back then." 

"And you, so much fitter. You are stronger than the whole lot of us." 

"We really were rascals back then, weren't we?" 

"Yes, indeed." Henry patted the seat to his right, "It's quite empty now, it seems that we are missing a part of our crew!" 

"You know what I'll tell you?" Mr. Ferret looked into Henry's eyes, "Get an acquaintance with him, show him these, and I'm willing to bet he'll remember." 

'Well, I guess I'm luckier than some folks 
I've known the thrill of loving you 
And that alone is more than I was created for 
'Cause I was born to be blue 
'Cause I was born to be blue' 

The music's uneasy vocals broke his train of thought.  

"Bartender, Bartender!" Henry shook his head in disgust, "Just give me a few seconds, would you David? This music is unbearable." 

He walked to the phonograph cylinder and removed the pin from the record. He returns to see no one at the bar table anymore, just a smoky mirage still etching its long gone self in the back of his vivid imagination. His face grew hot at the thought. 

Henry snuffed out the oil lamp and closed the pub. As he locked the padlock, he stared at the three empty seats again. He started walking away. This place used to be full of life. Just another failed purchase, he thought. 

"Wish you were here," He mumbled to himself, "You are just like Jackie, aren't you." He took one last look at the pub, which now without its light seemed just as distant as one of his black-and-white photos. 

He got into his car and drove towards the bridge.