he knew the place had been stripped clean。
The shelves were totally bare。 But now； lit only murkily by the light which
filtered through from the dining room （which was itself only dimly lit because
of the snow blocking the windows）； he thought he saw ranks and ranks of bottles
twinkling mutedly behind the bar； and syphons； and even beer dripping from the
spigots of all three highly polished taps。 Yes； he could even smell beer； that
damp and fermented and yeasty odor； no different from the smell that had hung
finely misted around his father's face every night when he came home from work。
Eyes widening； he fumbled for the wall switch； and the low； intimate bar…
lighting came on； circles of twenty…watt bulbs emplanted on the tops of the
three wagon…wheel chandeliers overhead。
The shelves were all empty。 They had not even as yet gathered a good coat of
dust。 The beer taps were dry； as were the chrome drains beneath them。 To his
left and right； the velvet…upholstered booths stood like men with high backs；
each one designed to give a maximum of privacy to the couple inside。 Straight
ahead； across the red…carpeted floor； forty barstools stood around the
horseshoe…shaped bar。 Each stool was upholstered in leather and embossed with
cattle brands — Circle H； Bar D Bar （that was fitting）； Rocking W； Lazy B。
He approached it； giving his head a little shake of bewilderment as he did so。
It was like that day on the playground when 。。。 but there was no sense in
thinking about that。 Still he could have sworn he had seen those bottles；
vaguely； it was true； the way you see the darkened shapes of furniture in a room
where the curtains h