Lissa Nilson Mermaid Café Scoured autumn colors stain the heavy, oak door guarded with the smiling grin of a full-breasted, scaly blonde with fins holding ceramic jugs of summer heat. Upwards as he entered, he saw the high, lemonade embossed windows stare into the street with insistence. The passersby cattle themselves to the opposite side of the street, as if to avoid its stern and watchful gaze. Inside he settles back, his arms arched over the chair, legs stretched out across the dirty floors watching a leggy woman in a garter belt pouting over her spilled cider. A sign over the bar - neon blue - WRONG it said What is wrong? He whispered, and as if the question floated over the booming voices the bartender replied, “My kind sir, it is you who is wrong.” The bartender points a fleshy finger back at the sign, the words have changed to PARADISE. Now a small, nude woman walks in, blindfolded, her arms tied with tiny pearls, bows and bells. Her skin beneath the baubles is painted hues of silver and blue and she steps onto a stage twirling pirouettes kicking high into the air as her curves bounce softly. The men jeer loudly at her performance, pour cold beer on her, unzip their pants, circling around her shuddering form. The fire burns in them as her blindfold becomes damp, no one can see her expression, though he can feel it. Now exploding bodies of color emerge from his trousers and his cheeks flush warmly red and violet, sienna and tangerine. A white balloon sails from her fingertips and out the window, The bloodshot eyes of the onlookers watch it rise towards the places their minds could never reach.     Contributors Bio Table of Contents