“There are rules to this you know, rules to all of it. Rules for everything.”

Adlai gestured around the bar expansively, taking the world in. He was resolutely ignored.

“You start off trying to figure them out, identify them, track them, map them. Then when you lock it all down you realise it’s better not to know at all. Always better to have faith than knowledge.”

He knocked back the last of the drink in his hand and let his head loll forwards. No one cared. Why should they? Everyone had their own world of problems.

Rules for everything. Guidelines. Code. When you’re programming you’re aware of the consequences of every step you take. You plan for them, anticipate them. Eventually this knowledge gets in the way of action, drags you down. You second guess every step, get mired down under the weight of inertia. Find yourself sitting in a bar.

That’s one reason. Alcohol made consequences fade away, leaving you light hearted and free. Unfettered. Life goes from drink to drink and consequences no longer exist.

You drink your drink and smoke your cigarettes and try to talk to this moron of a bartender and let life pass you by. Spend a few moments, hours, days perhaps, away, outside of life. Stare out the window at the rain, at the world and all its noise waiting there for you, ready to wrap you back in its arms and squeeze.

Adlai looked up and waited for his eyes to clear. He ordered another drink just to make the bartender come closer.

“I was talking about rules. You know some of the rules that reign out there?”

The bartender slipped his drink across to him and just stared. May as well be deaf.

“Everything has rules.” It was important he made this clear. “Take books. You read much?”

Nothing. Of course he didn’t. No-one did anymore, what was the point? Adlai let his body go limp and leant over the bar. It didn’t matter, he just wanted to talk to somebody. He closed his eyes and carried on.

“Detective fiction was always my bag. Mysteries too. Guessing games. What did Poe call it – he invented it you know, the detective story. ‘A fantastic game of the intellect’. You like that? I like that.”

The bartender was backing away again, so Adlai raised his voice to keep him in the net.

“He created rules, then others came along and added to them and soon enough they’d all created a world, a genre, a blueprint. Just like this. You don’t believe me?” Adlai frowned to himself. Why wouldn’t he believe him?

He held up his hand in front of his face and counted off on his fingers.

“Six characters, maximum. Make all the evidence clear, nothing hidden. Make it simple. Concentrate on how, not who. Make the solution necessary, and marvellous.” A smile lit his face. “That’s my favourite one. Marvellous.”

The bartender wasn’t even pretending to listen now, so Adlai rocked back on his seat and continued on in a low mutter. He stared out the window at the rain. An audience was necessary.

“And guidelines. Make the detective unmarried. Give him an irregular source on income. Give him an assistant, an audience substitute, someone not as smart as he is. Give him an unusual car.”

Adlai caught his reflection and stopped. He sat up straighter and stared at it. An image overlayed on the world outside, floating, translucent. Like a ghost, haunting it.

You followed the rules and created worlds and let others run through them. Tweaked them here and there, gave them a slant, but let them do their own thing. Played God.

He downed his drink but couldn’t make his reflection go away.