County Line Beer and Wine

The sun went down. The heat did not leave the dirt, but the light changed. It became a different place.

As the sun set, the heat lingered in the packed dirt, but the light began to change. The place had been at the edge of the county for as long as most could remember. During the day, it was nothing more than dust, the smell of stale beer, and a ’54 Chevy that never moved—a place merely to pass by. However, when the sun dipped below the tree line, the dim lights flickered and hummed. It was a comforting hum, the sound of the night beginning.

The men arrived once the light was gone. They gathered on the porch, where the air moved, enjoying their beer straight from the bottle. It was very cold and had a refreshing malt-and-frost taste. They didn’t mention the daytime heat; instead, they reminisced about things that had happened long ago, speaking of them simply.

There was wine available. It wasn’t the wine of the high country, but it was wet and red—and it was enough.

“Is it good?” one man asked.

“It is wine,” Silas replied. “It is cold, and it is here.”

“That is true,” the man said.

Inside, the light was warm and honest. Outside, the world was dark, and the gravel was white. It was a simple pleasure to sit and watch the moths hit the screen door. It was a fine experience to be at the county line when the world was quiet.