A Story That Takes Place In One Room [FICTOID]

The immortals keep a petting zoo in Manhattan.  They invested in property there centuries ago, turning a handsome profit while carefully carrying out their plan.

The zoo looked like a cocktail bar:  One of the old kind, with dark mahogany walls, plush leather booths, chrome stools, and a bartender wearing a long sleeve white shirt with a bowtie.

The bartender was Vulcan, and he had not left the bar for over two centuries.

The bar -- or petting zoo -- remained unchanged even though buildings went up and down and up again all around it.

It was that kind of a place.

The petting zoo was busiest on weekends.  The immortals saw it as a getaway camp and came down to drink cocktails and annoy Vulcan.

Vulcan knew their ploy and despised them with the unbound hatred only one immortal could show another.

A piglet sat in a corner booth.  Vulcan brought it some peanuts.  Weekdays at the bar felt dead, the real action didn’t begin until late Friday when the first immortals would show up to drink spirits and pet animals, their sole effort at remaining in contact with the world -- the real world -- that spawned them.

The piglet read a racing form as Vulcan came up.  “Who do you favor in the fifth?” she asked.

Vulcan shrugged.  “As long as I don’t have to shoe it, I don’t care,” he said.

The piglet stabbed out her long, thin, elegant cigarette.  Being immortal, smoking was a pleasure not denied at the petting zoo.  “You sound irritated,” she said.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” said Vulcan.  “I haven’t had a bathroom break in 247 years.”

© Buzz Dixon