Ivan
On a hot, humid, late spring evening close to sundown, the moon hangs heavy in the east three quarters full surrounded by a shadowy fog, filtered in the slowly darkening indigo sky. A bell sounds, ching~ching. A cyclist rolls by while three adults surround a mid size sedan, doors ajar, one packing a sleeping toddler into the backseat as the trio plays out a languid, elaborate goodbye after an enjoyable evening of barbeque and home made beer. Ivan's latest obsession is local IPA's. The small converted basement in the war era bungalow has become a makeshift brewery, hoppy and yeasty, overflowing with bottles and funnels, numerous batches of experimental blends and a graveyard of guitars in various states of function. Ivan's not much of a drinker. He considers himself more of a chemist, a creative scientist in the world of brewmastery. From 9 to 5 Monday through Friday Ivan works the service desk in a local chain retailer of musical instruments. He repairs guitars and other st...