the pillowman

In the Tesserae bar, Katurian nurses a drink that reminds him of cough syrup. It isn't only the taste -- it's that floating feeling that comes with the bitterness, like a crane machine pulling his forehead up and up and up. This is the kind of drink that is easier to find in bars than stores, which is why Katurian is tucked in the corner of this place and not hunched over his typewriter back home.

His thin, blond bangs hang in sweaty clumps over his eyes. His back curls protectively over the table, obscuring his glass and napkin.

On the fragile white paper of that napkin, he sketches axes with a ballpoint pen.