He was a regular.
Always ordered a whiskey sour and a large lagger chaser and sat at the bar and stared blankly at his drink before each sip. His shoes' soles were worn out and his shirt was often wrinkled. He would often unbutton the top of his shirt as if he wanted to let a bit of his angst out, but it never did. His sunken eyes and dry lips always reminded me of my grandfather before he passed. But he was young, or at least that's what I always thought. Late 20's with a heavy burden.
His lips would come back to life every time he swallowed his drink. His pupils would fill with light, or perhaps his eyes would catch a gleam of the mirror behind the bar as he tipped his head to down his spirit.
I had learned to not bother him and to pour him a drink as soon as he had emptied his glass. He wasn't much of a talker. He sometimes sat there and disappeared among the other customers and the noise from the bar. He was a chameleon, blending in with the scene. And every time his mouth went dry, he would soak his lips in that sweet distillate followed by a mouthful of Stella Artois.
Sometimes his unshaven face would accentuate his odd appearance. But whenever he shaved his emaciated look would come back with a vengeance. He was a tough fella to read. And I got to admit I enjoy trying to figure him out. Was he a failed businessman? Was he brokenhearted? Maybe he was just weary and hopeless.
The rest of my customers were so easy to size up. We had the cheaters, the liers, the lost and the nobodies. He didn't fit in any of my categories. He had mastered the way to remain unnoticed. There were no stories about his lovers, his wrongdoings, nothing. But something wouldn't add up. I was never able to tell what until that day when it all became evident.
It was 6:00pm and like clockwork, he arrived. He sat down and signaled me for his usual drinks. This time around he didn't unbutton his shirt. His tie was left in the same perfect downward position. His unshaven face wasn't out of place. And his eyes glowed like never before.
I reached for the whiskey bottle and grabbed it. I turned around and with my left hand, I fetch an Old Fashioned and then it was when our eyes locked. He put his hands on the bar. His left one sported a wedding band. I noticed immediately. His right hand was covered in splashes of red. This was a twist in the night I wasn't expecting.
He leaned over the bar and said to me with a bewitching tone: "Tonight I am drinking my whiskey on the rocks"
Always ordered a whiskey sour and a large lagger chaser and sat at the bar and stared blankly at his drink before each sip. His shoes' soles were worn out and his shirt was often wrinkled. He would often unbutton the top of his shirt as if he wanted to let a bit of his angst out, but it never did. His sunken eyes and dry lips always reminded me of my grandfather before he passed. But he was young, or at least that's what I always thought. Late 20's with a heavy burden.
His lips would come back to life every time he swallowed his drink. His pupils would fill with light, or perhaps his eyes would catch a gleam of the mirror behind the bar as he tipped his head to down his spirit.
I had learned to not bother him and to pour him a drink as soon as he had emptied his glass. He wasn't much of a talker. He sometimes sat there and disappeared among the other customers and the noise from the bar. He was a chameleon, blending in with the scene. And every time his mouth went dry, he would soak his lips in that sweet distillate followed by a mouthful of Stella Artois.
Sometimes his unshaven face would accentuate his odd appearance. But whenever he shaved his emaciated look would come back with a vengeance. He was a tough fella to read. And I got to admit I enjoy trying to figure him out. Was he a failed businessman? Was he brokenhearted? Maybe he was just weary and hopeless.
The rest of my customers were so easy to size up. We had the cheaters, the liers, the lost and the nobodies. He didn't fit in any of my categories. He had mastered the way to remain unnoticed. There were no stories about his lovers, his wrongdoings, nothing. But something wouldn't add up. I was never able to tell what until that day when it all became evident.
It was 6:00pm and like clockwork, he arrived. He sat down and signaled me for his usual drinks. This time around he didn't unbutton his shirt. His tie was left in the same perfect downward position. His unshaven face wasn't out of place. And his eyes glowed like never before.
I reached for the whiskey bottle and grabbed it. I turned around and with my left hand, I fetch an Old Fashioned and then it was when our eyes locked. He put his hands on the bar. His left one sported a wedding band. I noticed immediately. His right hand was covered in splashes of red. This was a twist in the night I wasn't expecting.
He leaned over the bar and said to me with a bewitching tone: "Tonight I am drinking my whiskey on the rocks"
Hrms Etc
20/9/2019
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