After watching the hummingbird feeder for the last several weeks, I had an idea for a bar called “Hummingbird.”
There’d be a long, wide steel table that was always covered with red plastic glasses filled with ice cold sangria or something, and you could have as many as you wanted for as long as you wanted to. There’d only ever be one or two people in there at once, maybe four during rush hour, and if somehow supplies got low, someone would come in with a pitcher and replenish it with lots more. Always plenty to go around.
However, whenever you picked up a cup and were about to take a drink, someone would come out of hiding from some dark corner (wearing a bright orange shirt probably) and slap your drink out of your hand and you’d be obligated to chase them out of the bar and around the block for a while and scream at them.
But you’d never actually catch up with them, they’d give up running sooner or later and you’d give up chasing them and you’d both return to the bar. They’d hide again and you’d forget about them and cautiously approach the bar after a while, beckoned by the seemingly limitless bounty of refreshing beverages, but once you’d picked up a fresh cup to slake your ever-burgeoning thirst, someone else would come out of hiding and slap it out of your hand and you’d chase them again.
Then it’s night and everyone goes home to sleep.