

That Different Time. Petrav stood on the threshold. The dingy little bar was dimly lit, and reeked a rancid mingling of vomit and sweat. It was not the filth that held him back or perhaps it was, just not in the way you and I would think. It was life, that sickening infestation of life that the bar played host to. It was the patrons, the bar tender, the light music and heavy set voices half-way to drunken stupor. It was the flickering lights and the sound of clinking glass that made him want to cry out. Not tonight he thought, tonight was too important.That Different Time. by ~deviantRealism
He reigned in his anxiety, his fear, his now instinctual need to wretch. And as he stepped into the bar he
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Thank you very much for your kind words!
You also have a wonderful gallery...
Keep it up!