Post the Ninety-Third: In Which There Is Lightning

Oh, Gentle Reader! I have such marvelous things to share with you today! Frankly, I’m as giddy as twelve school girls inhaling helium. Oh, my stars! I’m behaving ridiculously.

A week ago last Friday, it was, in fact, a dark and stormy night. I was working in our portable bar, in Paisley Glen*. We were quite busy, as per usual – we’re extremely popular, and known for the generosity of our pours – when into my camp walks an unbearably beautiful redhead, who can’t possibly be old enough to be in my bar; obviously, I carded him immediately. To my surprise, not only is the stone cold fox of age, but his given name is, in fact, Fox.

Um, not quite.

Um, not quite.

As we chatted, and I served the other patrons of my establishment, I began to grow very fond of young mister Fox. He’s a devotee of Dionysus, apparently, and quite serious about it.

This Fella

This Fella

When, at the stroke of midnight, we heard the first peal of thunder, the heavens burst. I felt no hesitation about handing bartending duties off to my apprentice, and letting my little maenad lead me off into the field; we danced in the rain. The lightning splayed at least once every minute overhead, each flash revealing more revellers, and a sea of canvas and grass. Fox laid me down in the long grass, to kiss me; I made sure that I was looking up, so that I could see the gorgeous young man above me, and the lightning sparking from star to star.



* We obviously can’t sell alcohol, but we happily accept tips and donations. This year, announcing that we were flat broke and showed up with nothing at all; we received a fully stocked bar as a thank you for years of enjoyment. People’s generosity is astounding, sometimes.


About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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