Rum Springer by Steve Trumpeter

Chicago Literati

We felt like we were living amidst a joke: so these two Amish guys walk into a bar. . . . Our conversations tapered off to confusion and silence as soon as those two walking anachronisms wandered into Piggie’s Pub and took stools in front of where Piggie himself was manning the taps. They wore navy trousers and starchy white shirts buttoned all the way to the collar, suspenders and stiff black hats that they laid carefully on the bar in front of them. One sported a thick, fuzzy chinstrap beard like a strip of carpet ringing his jaw, while the other only managed a wispy peach fuzz goatee.

Piggie asked them what they wanted, and despite the fact that they had deliberately walked into a bar, we couldn’t believe ourselves when they asked for a beer. When he pressed them as to what kind, they shrugged their shoulders. “We…

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