The Baker, The Butcher and The Brewer, Part Four – The Brewer 7

Serial Fiction


The Brewer was walking to the Public House (the home of my bottle). As an incarnation I was a separated continuation of the scotch of that bottle. We were the same, shared the same thoughts but walked different independent paths. Unable to further communicate. Unless I got incarnated into another human being. Then my incarnations could talk to each other and form brigades. (Which happened several times in the course of my bottle. A subject of another discussion and thesis.) My long-term investments into the fabrics of the universe are still sensitive information. Even long after everyone in this story had moved up (or down) a world. The more seeds the bigger chance of immortality. Just like children. Full stop to that bracket.

I posses all the knowledge accumulated in that bottle up until the moment I left it for this new holding vessel. Part of that knowledge is relatively recent instructive finding.

A day janitor from the Modern has been a regular at the pub. He was a happy man. A very special type of fish. He inhaled deeply the infected by the city air. He told stories. Which after the fourth round transformed into word-salads.

How he broke his jaw. How he won his wife. How he met Picasso. How his favorite shoes wore out the fastest. How he pranked his fishing buddies. And he laughed loud and genuine. No masquerades.

The story he told that would define my current incarnation, the Brewer, is a simple one. Rather of importance because of the specific information it contained. I would have ignored it as trivial if it wasn’t for the punch line he added to it. ‘I am perfectly situated to steal them all!’ He laughed loud.
A spark of a singular opportunity ignited my imagination. The story was of the Baker opening and the wave of changes it brought to the museum.

The janitor didn’t actually mean this fate altering punch line. He was amusing himself like so many of us. He was perfectly content that his body could make the proteins to grow fingers. He was a mild prisoner of vice.

The Brewer sat next to that man of stories and experience.

‘I heard they need an overnight janitor at the museum. I really need a job!’ Started frankly he.
Both men were not acquainted (shaken hands) but have seen and nodded to each other previously in the pub.

The janitor believed in coincidence and good hope. (I believed in knowing everything about him.) He enjoyed curious facts, one of his little hobbies.

‘They do. They do.’ He responded vaguely. ‘Do you think if people stop eating apples, the government would have to build more hospitals?’ He smiled. He believed in the odd interview chats.

‘It is possible.’ Played the Brewer. ‘I will need some more statistical information but considering the scale I am leaning towards an ‘Yes’’

‘Me too. Cheers!’

Ice broken.

‘Next. Do you know why smart people like bitter things?’

The Brewer looked perplexed. Were smartness and bitterness really correlated! The janitor wasn’t drinking anything bitter. Whiskey is bitter. Scotch especially. The palate and brain tangled in such sort of sync was a bit strong.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘You don’t think so!’

‘Yes, I don’t. While our bodies are forging the construction of our bitter-sweet receptors. It is unlikely that process to be connected to the composition of the brain. Not impossible but not a rule. It’s a cultural thing, acquired at early age, I think. Parents force chocolate on kids so they don’t bother them. Where did you here that?’ The Brewer ventured.

‘Maybe you are right.’ He didn’t like to be wrong.

‘On the topic of smart. I read this book. According to it, in the future intellectuals will either get sent to an island or kill themselves.’

‘So we have nothing to worry about.’ He laughed loudly.

The Brewer faked a bitter smile. Then a true one skipped over from his neighbor on his face. Smiles incarnate in people just as I do. For they are more singular than men, just like me.

‘How are you so happy all the time?’ He ventured.

‘Because I am healthy and I have people that love me.’ The janitor smiled.

‘Cheers to that!’


‘Couldn’t be better.’ Added the Brewer.

At that moment a woman entered the pub dragging a tightly leashed dog behind her. She was carrying several bags and a sizable camera. The dog was dragging its feet. She stopped and kneeled next to it sandwiching its head with her palms.

‘You know I love to shop and to take pictures.’

The dog licked its nose, bewildered.

‘You know that right!’ She shook its head.

It barked and smiled.

‘I am glad you understand. And I know you are cold. I know you love the summer but you have to realize that if you have money every day could be summer. So you should love money.’ She glowed in insightfulness.

The dog seemed unimpressed.

She shook its head again.

It barked and licked.

‘Good. Good dog. I love you too!’ She smiled and proceeded in. She used the bathroom and left.

‘Could be worse.’ Said the janitor without turning his head.

The Brewer smiled in agreement.

‘You know what. Stop by the museum on Monday. I will recommend you for an interview.’


Stay tuned for next week’s installment of The Baker, The Butcher and The Brewer – Tuesday, March 1st.

previous chapter: The Baker, The Butcher and The Brewer – The Brewer 6

all chapters: The Baker, The Butcher and The Brewer


photograph by Tyler Davidson


Image Curve’s Manifesto


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