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Spiritus Sanctum
by Michael C. Keith

Old Sully staggered out of Maguire’s Pub into the blazing mid-afternoon sun. The street was congested with shoppers and street venders, and the noise from passing vehicles was jarring. Hardly three steps away from the bar, Sully had had enough and made a wobbly about face. He all but fell through the doors of the musty gin mill and gave out a loud, albeit slurred, admonition to the handful of patrons inside. “Order another drink! It’s a sobering experience out there!”