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"Small g", he said, taking a drag on his cigarette. His hands were shaking, just a little, but there was something about him that made you not want to take him on in a dark alley on a darker night. He had the build of a worker, or a farmer. "Solstice," he said, the sound strained by the smoky exhale. He waved the cigarette vaguely in the direction of the door. "Out there. S'dark now, but wait a few days. I'll be stronger. You'll see. Be a while, 'till Spring. Seeds to plant."
I waved the barkeep over and indicated another round. Something golden, old but with a taste of sun. The man glanced over, and inclined his head, accepting the offering. He seemed, in that moment, regal. I could begin to believe…
Playing along, I asked, "So what's an ancient Sumerian grain god like you doing in a place like this?" City pavement, city lights, no fields to play in, no place for a nature-boy, or deity.
He laughed, the hoarse laugh of a chronic inhaler, coughing into his sleeve, his eyes dancing with merriment. "No mobs calling for my sacrifice, neither!" He laughed a bit more, and threw back more of the single-malt.
"Tell you something." He paused, as if to take my measure. "I'd give up my godhood for a little quiet. And actually, I have." He finished his drink, got off the stool and stood, giving a little bow. "Enchanted, my dear."
And with that, he was gone, into the soft flurries of the night.