Elliot ditched his jock reputation after high school. He happily traded his cleats and shoulder pads for college cafeteria food and seminars notes. Now, without the distraction of football, he has managed to find success at the University of Minneso...
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There was barely enough space for Pierce to wiggle toward a bar stool. He dodged a sweaty frat guy and an publicly-indulgent couple, relieved when he could finally gasp for a breath. The compact building had become hot and muggy.
There was an entire wall dedicated to shelving liquor. It was difficult to see, though, due to the gritty lighting.
"Another IPA," Pierce requested. He glimpsed at Elliot from afar, noting his half-empty glass. He added, "And a whiskey ginger - top shelf. Please."
The bartender's arms were littered with ink, almost matching the graffitied bar table. His elbow was decorated with a black webbing design, which contorted as he shook a fruity concoction. Pierce was staring at the permanent art when the man turned around.
"Professor V?"
The older man pointed to his nametag. "We're not in the classroom, Pierce. You can drop the professional title."
Pierce squinted, reading the pin. "Does that say Spider? Do you have four other limbs or something?" He shook his head. "That's an awful nickname. You really let people call you that?"
The professor shrugged. "Professor V when I'm teaching. Tony to my friends. And Spider everywhere else," he explained. Loud chatter coiled around their conversation. "It could be worse. I have a buddy named Bones."
Spider. "Do you go home to a web?"
Professor V smiled mildly. "I wish."
Pierce wondered if Professor V was a secret Spiderman fanatic. He searched his skin for a clue, eyeing a collage of random tattoos. Each one told a story, like the cursive E on the forth finger of his left hand - no ring, just an E between two knuckles.
The tattooed man inquired, "Aren't you a little young to be drinking?" Pierce wasn't twenty-one years old yet. His fake ID got him through the door, but he wasn't sure if the illegal piece of plastic would fool the cunning man in front of him.
Instead he countered with, "Aren't you a little old to be a bartender?" It was an arguable point, but Professor V wasn't the type of person to conform to social norms. He had spent the majority of his career pissing off academia's most prestigious affiliates, branding himself a rebel.
"You ever heard of ageism?" Professor V asked rhetorically, popping off the cap of a beer. He handed it to his student, giving him a hard glare. "You're walking home, right?"
Pierce nodded.
"And the guy with blue hair? He's walking home with you?" He was surveying Elliot across the bar, mentally guessing his age. His blue head gave him the elusive quality of fame without any of the perks.
Pierce was coy, saying, "I hope so."
Professor V nodded, deeming the answer good enough. He started mixing the requested cocktail.
"Just don't do anything stupid tonight." His tone made it seem like he had done some stupid things in his youth.
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