It was a dark and stormy night

Also unfortunately he had drunk a bit more than he meant to and, as he stumbled again in the blinding white fog of snow, he kept getting the feeling that he’d left the normal world behind.

Which was strange.

He’d been to a restaurant with a few friends, in Denver, and he was still in Denver. At least, the street was one of those broad, offensively straight streets of the American west, the red brick facades of shops and restaurants looked familiar.

And the blizzard looked all too familiar too. And yet, none of this looked right. He was fairly sure that Denver didn’t have a castle right in the middle of Colfax, but he could see the outline of a castle against the snow. Not much of a castle, granted, more of a valley of Loire thing, but still like nothing in Denver. He was sure of it. He’d lived in town for over ten years.

And then in front of him, obscured by blowing gales of snow, he saw the outline of a a neon dragon flipping neon pancakes. Underneath, fat neon letters spelled The George. Only it was more Th Georg as two of the lights were too covered with snow to show properly.

He blinked. He’d heard of diner with that name, but it only existed in books. Or perhaps, also when you were a little drunk and a lot confused.

He approached it, slowly, hesitantly. If he opened the door, would it all vanish?
(To be continued.)