In the quaint small village of Mountain Run, where the river carves the land in two and the fruit-bearing trees that line the waterways deposit their gifts along the banks for people and animals to enjoy, there lived two souls connected by an unlikely bond. Julian, a wiry, considered 25-year-old artist, spent his days capturing the beauty of Mountain Run's vast natural beauties on canvas and in photos. Julian lived in a small one-bedroom house that family lore claims his great-grandfather built with his own bare hands. Whether Julian believed that story or not, he was grateful to have a comfortable place to live. He'd even converted the second bedroom - and most of the living room - into an art studio. This home, his home, was a reflection of the young man who resided there; at times colourful but unassuming to the naked eye.
Across the street, in a much larger house adorned with memories of decades past and showing the love and dedication a devoted long-time owner typically pours into their home, lived Arthur, a 65-year-old jovial professor of communications, whose wisdom was as vast as the library that filled his home. Stacks on stacks of books covered every available wall space, with some piles of books spilling out onto the dark hardwood floor. Arthur spent most of his time leaving his beautifully maintained home, which his close friends affectionately called "the stacks". In part because of Arthur's vast collection of books, but also because he had a reputation for taking his paramours back home and discarding them in secret before the sun came up. He was charismatic and took every opportunity to make good use of it.
Arthur and Julian's paths rarely crossed. Arthur typically left home in the wee small hours of the morning, enjoying the company of the morning dew and the crisp air that lingered before the sun's warmth greeted the Earth. Conversely, Julian thrived in the darkness and worked tirelessly throughout the night, often being inspired by the many shades of blue that the moon cast upon his back garden. But on one fateful Monday evening, the two men's lives would cross and change the trajectory of their futures forever.
Their paths crossed at a local poetry reading in Mountain Run's historic downtown district. Julian, who arrived first, decked out in his least stained blue jeans and an over-sized white t-shirt that hung off his slender frame, always wondered why the town clung so dearly to the "historic" downtown moniker when most of the older buildings - the ones with actual history - were torn down and replaced with cookie-cutter hipster breweries and schizophrenic pubs that didn't know whether they were a karaoke bar, a comedy club, or a grungy watering hole. Julian opened the door and walked through one of these scatter-brained pub-club-holes, this one was called "Allies", after the owner and Julian's friend, Allison. He took his seat at the front and let his gaze dance around the room, scanning the stalwarts and new patrons with equal fascination.
It was during this people-watching that he saw Arthur walk in, decked out in his after-work best: a pinstripe green jacket over a worn-in white shirt and grey slacks. The older man caught Julian's eye almost instantly and he watched as Arthur made his way to the bar, made small talk with anyone in earshot, then brought his drink (Julian guessed it was a half pint of something imported) and sat on the other side of the aisle, across from Julian. Julian kept trying to sneak glances at Arthur but he thought it wise to let go of the futile business of gawking at someone who was seated less than an arm's reach away from him.
Soon, the seats filled up and the lights were dimmed. Allison, in her trademark effervescent grin and messy hair, took to the mic.
