Doreen Joy Barber

Jun 192013
 
The Evening Shift

by Doreen Joy Barber
Feet sticking to the floor, you squeeze past customers to collect the empty glassware to be returned to the bar, to be baptized in the hot water of the glass washer and to be reborn again as a vessel for ale, lager, wine or rudimentary cocktail. You think about when you can be reborn. You think about when you can have a shower to wash off whatever the hell is black and sticky on your arm. [read more…]