The Black Brew

So, last night, I found myself at an Irish pub on Chicago's northside, propped up against a finely polished bar, draining a number of glasses of hearty Guiness Stout. It was all for a good cause, a benefit, for a little girl, who suffers from a horribly incomprehensible disease. There was so much life and vitality all around me: a bevy of beautiful women, broad shouldered men, the jukebox was playing U2's "Beautiful Day." The black brew made me light-headed. The conversation was inconsequential. I had this strange, "there and not there" feeling. Inside the pub: laughter, music, life, the swirling carnival of existence. Outside: a cold, black, darkness, silent, waiting...