Spiritus Sanctum
by Michael C.
Keith
Old Sully staggered out of
Maguire’s Pub into the blazing mid-afternoon
sun. The street was congested with shoppers and
street venders, and the noise from passing
vehicles was jarring. Hardly three steps away
from the bar, Sully had had enough and made a
wobbly about face. He all but fell through the
doors of the musty gin mill and gave out a loud,
albeit slurred, admonition to the handful of
patrons inside. “Order another drink! It’s
a sobering experience out there!”
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