A freight train horn sounded in the distance as Joel strolled up the avenue. The sunlight was refreshing after coming out of his air-conditioned, temporary hibernation. The shop could be extraordinarily dark during the day, particularly his renovated living space and he kept it pretty cool most of the time. Still not totally awake, he mused on what to do with the rest of the day as he walked: Go to the gym, maybe ride out later, or just take a nap- All winners in his book. He normally didn’t do a lot of work on Sundays.

About the time he was to round the corner ahead he remembered [i] that it was actually Sunday[/i] and Cornerstone wouldn’t be open for another couple hours. [i]Damn, Damn, Damn…[/i] He thought. He really didn’t feel like walking back and having to drive somewhere so his legs continued carried him, guided by his stomach. If Rowan was there, she would take care of him. She was [i]usually[/i] good for it. He had known her since she came to work at the bar. She had her regulars, but he considered himself of a higher class of parishioner, a [i]Veteran[/i]. He grinned a little at the thought. It had come to him before and was funny every time.

When he turned the corner he was surprised to see someone sitting outside smoking and music playing. He stopped briefly and checked his phone for the time. [i]Just a little after noon[/i]. Unsatisfied, he glanced up at the sun position in the sky. [i]Interesting[/i]. He walked on a little further as the “OPEN” sign was lit and scanned around the outside of the bar from behind his sunglasses. He gave a slight nod to the girl smoking outside and pushed through the door. 

A t-shirt, cargo shorts and sneakers were his essentially his entire wardrobe, most of the shirts displaying some sort of Motorsport or tool brand from a vendor. Today’s choice was an older, white [i]Bridgestone Motorsport[/i] tee with a tighter fit that came from multiple washes that he liked. He paused briefly at the door with a sense of pretend drama he knew Rowan would at least find amusing and looked over the group still with his sunglasses on: Rowan and two others that he didn’t recognize.

“You guys drawing up a labor contract or somethin’?”  He spoke in way that flew the trench between total sincerity and stark sarcasm. He flipped his sunglasses back on his head and proceeded to a bar stool. “What’s up?” He said. The query was mostly directed at Rowan, but he eased his tone enough for the others to hopefully not take his first question seriously.
  
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