The bar is quiet.
I mean, not that it isn’t always quiet – what with us beingthe third dive bar on the one street, which is really just a mesh of Trost nightlife that spreads out five blocks in either direction, which makes the competition more than tough on a good day – but tonight is practically empty.
We usually have a couple regulars who slump over the bar from sundown to sunrise, but today there are more stools empty than occupied.
Maybe there’s a game on? But that wouldn’t explain why parking was still so difficult to find tonight.
And I’m sure if I would’ve heard something about that, if there was – something from Connie on Facebook, or a text from Reiner if he was playing, or a message from Jean, asking if—
Well, there can’t be a game. I guess it’s just a quiet night.
Frankly, it’s not something worth complaining about. The wages aren’t exactly stellar here on a good night, but it’s enough to …show more content…
“Rum and Coke will do me just fine,” the man slurs. He fumbles in his pocket for a moment, before sliding ten bucks over the counter to me. I nod and peel it from the wood, noting how his fingers linger on the end of the bill for a second too long.
I’ll go easy on the rum, I think.
I pour the drink quickly, managing the judge the Coke just right so that its frothy lip of bubbles doesn’t spill out over the glass. Hitch slides up next to me at the till and bumps me with her hip as she moves to open the cash drawer.
“He’s cute,” she says, nodding her head towards my customer.
“He’s drunk,” I reply plainly. Hitch merely shrugs, but her green eyes glint in the foggy light.
The man hasn’t moved a muscle when I return to him, sliding his drink and his change towards his sprawled fingers. It’s like the life seems to flood back into his eyes, and he instantly wakes up, shooting me a broad, if unsteady
I mean, not that it isn’t always quiet – what with us beingthe third dive bar on the one street, which is really just a mesh of Trost nightlife that spreads out five blocks in either direction, which makes the competition more than tough on a good day – but tonight is practically empty.
We usually have a couple regulars who slump over the bar from sundown to sunrise, but today there are more stools empty than occupied.
Maybe there’s a game on? But that wouldn’t explain why parking was still so difficult to find tonight.
And I’m sure if I would’ve heard something about that, if there was – something from Connie on Facebook, or a text from Reiner if he was playing, or a message from Jean, asking if—
Well, there can’t be a game. I guess it’s just a quiet night.
Frankly, it’s not something worth complaining about. The wages aren’t exactly stellar here on a good night, but it’s enough to …show more content…
“Rum and Coke will do me just fine,” the man slurs. He fumbles in his pocket for a moment, before sliding ten bucks over the counter to me. I nod and peel it from the wood, noting how his fingers linger on the end of the bill for a second too long.
I’ll go easy on the rum, I think.
I pour the drink quickly, managing the judge the Coke just right so that its frothy lip of bubbles doesn’t spill out over the glass. Hitch slides up next to me at the till and bumps me with her hip as she moves to open the cash drawer.
“He’s cute,” she says, nodding her head towards my customer.
“He’s drunk,” I reply plainly. Hitch merely shrugs, but her green eyes glint in the foggy light.
The man hasn’t moved a muscle when I return to him, sliding his drink and his change towards his sprawled fingers. It’s like the life seems to flood back into his eyes, and he instantly wakes up, shooting me a broad, if unsteady