Climate Change Short Story

In the heart of the city, tucked between towering buildings and a small park, lay the dimly lit bar called The Urbar. The night was a concert of hard, cold rain that sent people dashing for cover, not wanting to get soaked. The streetlights outside swang from a cable, swimming in the stream of rain, the beam dancing on the street below, leading to Urbar entrance.

The minimalist decor of the bar, with its exposed brick walls and low-hanging Edison bulbs, small black square tables, created a understated atmosphere. In the dim of the Urbar, Ethan nursed a whiskey, in his crisply ironed, dark blue shirt hinting at a life of comfortable stability.

Ethan's dark hue of his shirt failed to mirror an inner angst, a silent acknowledgment of the moments when the weight of it all pressed down on him, when he hated the politics, the pressure, and the freaking all of those babbling fools.

The subtle gleam of his Hamilton Khaki Field watch seemed kind of pointless, despite being all that. The corporate world, a smart, steady keel, securing a middle-class existence that, all in all, was pretty nice. He had a loving family, a cozy summer cottage on the seaside. A life that didn't give a damn about what it looked like from outside,

Ethan swirled the amber liquid in his glass. This won't get easier he thought, as he waited for his old friend.

The guy, dirty bohemian, the soho boho, Leo, approached the table with a pint of dark ale from a small British brewery. He set the glass down with a soft thud, the rich, malty aroma wafting up as he slid into the seat across from Ethan. His wild hair was damp from the rain, and eyes somehow sharp. "Hey, Ethan," he said, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Ethan looked up and grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Leo, you made it. I was starting to think you'd gotten free pot someplace."

Leo chuckled, as if, running a hand through his damp hair. "Nah, just had to make a stop at the brewery. You know, for inspiration." He took a sip of his ale, his brow furrowing as he gathered his thoughts. "So, I've been crushing this climate stuff, right? The evidence is in the publications! It's not the CO2, its the orbit, and solar storm variances." Sip, and a smart alec face.

Ethan leaned back in his chair, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. "Well, but it is. Leo, you're right that the sun is the greatest contributor of heat. But the thing is, solar activity variations, they just aren't big enough to explain the warming we're seeing. We know its known."

Leo took a sharp glance at the Edison bulb hanging above the table. "Nah, man, its just seems off. I mean, they're all about CO2, but most of the IR is absorbed by the water vapor" he stated, all clever.

Ethan fell into a slight smile for a while, sipping on his glass with a kind of blank face.

Leo went on, despite not being asked to. "And what about the sun storms? You know, solar activity with the oblong orbits, all that I been talking about. I did some more calc and its like total 13 percent variance. It is totally fake to say its CO2?"

"We're talking about a fraction of a percent, not the plus minus 6 percent you're thinking of" Ethan remarked.

Leo frowned, his fingers drumming on the table as he considered Ethan's words, going off into argument he thought is clever: "But what about the orbit, man? The obliquity, the precession, all that stuff. Isn't that messing with the thermal load in the... what do you call it, the geosphere?" He waved his hand vaguely, as if trying to grasp the elusive concept from the air.

Ethan nodded patiently, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the Edison bulbs overhead. "Those are valid points, Leo. Orbital variations do influence climate, but they operate on much longer timescales, tens of thousands of years. What we're seeing now, the rapid warming, that's happening on a timescale of decades. And that's where the CO2 comes in. It's not just about the heat coming in, it's about the heat being trapped."

Leo shook his head, his gaze shifting to the rain-streaked window. "But how can we be sure, Ethan? I mean, it's not like we can just run an experiment on the whole damn planet. And those models, man, they're just... simulations. They're not the real world."

Ethan leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his voice steady and reassuring. "You're right, Leo. We can't run planet-scale experiments. But we can look at natural ones. Volcanic eruptions, ice cores, they tell us a lot about how the climate responds to changes. And the models, they're tested against this real-world data. They're not perfect, but they're the best tools we have."

Leo's gaze shifted back to Ethan, his eyes searching for answers in the calm, collected demeanor of his old friend. "But what if they're wrong, Ethan? What if we're all just... chasing shadows?" He paused, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You know, like that time we thought we saw a UFO, but it turned out to be a weather balloon."

Ethan laughed, slightly drunk. The sound drowned in the cool din of the bar. "Yeah, I remember that. But here's the thing, Leo. Its just they never know, and nothing is never certain, never absolute. Its some dude working on that. And the story is pretty good. You use it when you have to, in uncertainty. But then its pretty hard core physics, stuff, not like... a precautionary tale."

Leo chuckled, raising his glass of dark ale. "To precautionary tales, then." Ethan raised his glass of whiskey, clinking it against Leo's with a soft, resonant chime. "And to chasing shadows, even if we're not sure where they'll lead."

Ethan and Leo got even more drunk, drunk of ideas, a dialogue cynicism and drunken certainty. Their friendship hovering above the table, like the weathered streetlights outside, hanging off a sturdy steel cable, casting some dim glow in the rainy autumn darkness, the drink numbing the rawness of the day.

As the night wore on, the rain slowed to a gentle patter. Then to nothing, winds scattering the clouds across a dark orange sky.

On the darkening street, temperature kept rising, eerily reverse autumn, wind no longer chilling. The streetlights, their beam now sober of the wind, hanging steady off a cable across the street onto the bar facade.