Reverse Metamorphosis book one of the Irrevocable Change trilogy Read Free

located at
the corner of Twelfth and Gerson on the north west corner of the
intersection; a long, narrow two story brick building connected to
others like it in one of the oldest parts of the city. Twelfth
Street was lined with mostly red brick apartments and commercial
buildings; many of the original businesses had given way to pawn
shops, tattoo parlors, pizza restaurants, record stores and the
like. Parallel parking on both sides of the one-way street left
room for two narrow lanes of traffic.
    Most days, except in the dead of winter, Tony
and a contingent of his pal’s and associates could usually be found
outside in front of the bar in the morning and on the shady side of
the building in the afternoon. Inside the place was dark and dingy
with more than a few cobwebs in the corners. The flooring was
three-inch wide bare oak board, colored by tobacco spit and tracked
in rainwater and dirt. The once cream-colored plaster walls were
now brownish mustard yellow from the years of dense smoke emitted
by cigarette and cigar smokers. Except for calendars, and a few
pictures of great Cubs baseball players, the walls were mostly
bare. A Wurlitzer jukebox with 45 RPM records sat in the back at
the end of the oak booths on the Gerson Street wall. The ceiling
was at least fourteen feet high, covered in the square pressed tin
decorative panels popular at the turn of the century. The light
fixtures with white globes hanging down were original as were the
eight ceiling fans with the old flat circular motors with exposed
windings inside the vented motor frames; they were always running,
summer or winter.
    And then there was the BAR! What a bar! It
was built of solid red oak with ornately carved trim and rounded
corners. It covered thirty five feet of the inside wall and still
had the original brass foot rail. The back bar was at least twelve
feet high and had six large sections of plate mirror with beveled
edges, set in between large tapered oak columns. On each end of the
bar there were always one gallon jars of pickled pigs feet, and
pickled boiled eggs in purple brine. There was hardly any meat on
the pig’s feet, mostly fat and bone, but the old guys would reach
in with a long handled fork, pull out their catch and chew away.
Monday through Saturday daily specials were served. Dishes like
navy beans and ham with cornbread, beef stew or goulash were tasty,
filling and cheap.
    During the work week, Mickey, the day
bartender would be on his stool at the far end talking to the
regulars seated around the bar. Since it was Sunday, John was
manning the bar. He was one of several part-timers who worked
emergencies, weekends and vacations.
    Jimmy G. was at the bar too, so they talked
awhile, mostly Jimmy talking about how sick the Cubs were playing
and how they needed to trade up to some better players. They shot a
couple of games of eight ball on the pool table toward the back of
the room and talked about their siblings. Both of them had an older
brother and sister. Jimmy’s brother, John Anthony had graduated
from an Ivy League law school, and his sister Adrianna was
finishing a post grad degree in economics..
    Even though he and Jimmy were best friends
Clay decided not to mention the problem he’d had the previous
night. There would be plenty of times later when they were alone to
discuss it. But it sure felt good to be with his best friend to
keep his mind occupied for a while.
    Looking at their reflections in the back bar
mirror Clay subconsciously compared the two of them. He was about
twenty pounds lighter than Jimmy, weighing in at two hundred. They
were both stocky and had muscular frames, thanks to their jobs and
occasional sports. Jimmy was six feet two while he was six feet
even. They were even similar in facial features, although Jimmy had
his mom’s darker Sicilian complexion.
    Both of them were working full time as union
laborers on construction, but on different jobs. Jimmy’s job was
running behind schedule so the crew