The bar was empty. The passage of the Great Monstrosity left the whole city block a place only a rare few cared for. The Long Alley - shortened.
John Frivolli, the barman, and his wife, Mrs. John Frivolli (Sandra for friends), were some of the few people who remained in the Shortened Alley. The beast tore down everything from number 89 up to 127, and then again a few houses around number145, but the whole length of 460 numbers, from 163 onward was barren. They were lucky enough to see it and tell the tale (Sandra took the "tell" part somewhat seriously, whoever she could talk to, write to, moan to, scream at, anything: "story of her life" on repeat), and the only thing in their bar that was damaged was the doorbell. John, however, remained grim, strictly because of business, which failed to make anyone busy in the last ten days. A stray patron here and there, wanderers and thrill seekers, even a few of the hunters, but no locals, no regulars, and this was the juice of his bar. Regular drinks and regular drinkers. Alcoholism!
John stared at the TV, as the image started to sharpen again, the snow disappearing. A movie was on, a movie about a carriage and John Wayne.
"Mister barman."
John rotated his head in the general direction of the voice. In the far corner of the bar, hidden in shadows (and almost underneath the table), sat a wee boy, maybe eight or nine years old. Sneaky little bugger. John approached the table and slumped to see the child better. Dark haired and brown eyed, no discerning features. Jacket and boots too big for him. At least he looked happy, a wide grin on his face displaying some ten teeth at most.
"What can I get you, little one?"
"I would like one bottle of soda, please."
As he was putting the soda in front of the boy, John said:
"Aren't you a bit too young to be alone in a bar?“
"Oh, my mom's on her way to pick me up. I go to school near here, St. Taras', on Que's street. Today she said she was going to be a little late, so I have to wait here."
John smiled the barman smile. He's seen so much in his twenty something years of owning this place that he couldn't help but sympathize with everyone. Life's been a grim bore since all this chaos started, and now people are talking about setting up military checkpoints around the city. Might start closing down schools. He even heard a rumor about nuking the whole city if all else failed. Rumors, he muttered and waved away. John walked back to the bar and sat on his comfy "Proud Drinkers" armchair. The TV screen took his attention once more, as the carriage wheeled, whirrled and Wayned under fire while the protagonist courageously controlled the mighty beasts which dragged it through the dust and bullets. More of a gladiator epic with chariots. Guns and chariots, John thought. He hoped it was what the other John thought some 60 years ago. Great minds think alike, surely.
The ground shook a bit, then a bit more. Sandra screamed from upstairs and John went pale. More shaking and trembling. He heard gunfire. Cannons. A helicopter. Then an explosion. Then he couldn't hear the helicopter any longer.
"Sandra get into the basement, NOW!" As he turned to run down, he remembered the little boy and ran to him. The boy said, shaking, "She's gonna pick me up!" Frivolli tried to raise him from his seat, but the boy wriggled out of his arms and onto the floor.
"Mommy!"
"JOHN GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!" Can't go without the kid, John thought. Can't go with the kid, John thought. Can't decide, John tho---
Darkness took over the bar, as a gargantuan presence barred the rays of light from the place. John froze. He heard less gunfire now, and this did not encourage him. His eyes were closed. If this is the end, let it be quick. "Bye, mister." And the door was left open behind the little boy who walked out and climbed onto the leathery scales of a monster far too great to comprehend. John Wayne grinned on the TV screen.
Shortly after John Frivolli and his wife Sandra moved from the Shortened Alley. In short, they had enough of the city and opened a bar in a village near the sea, where business was slow, where there was no shortage of alcoholics, and where monsters were simple men.