happy hour

"I figured out why they don't get along."
He never looks up, so I keep talking.
"Law school."
At this he does look up. He cocks one eyebrow.
"How'd'ya figure?" He asks.
I smile. I've got him. "Last night they argued for thirty minutes about the legalities of involuntary manslaughter." I think I'm being clever. It's rarely picked up on, so I suddenly conclude that perhaps I'm not good at being intentionally clever. Or maybe my attempts are interpreted as sarcasm.
Either way, he looks back down at his newspaper, nodding, and makes a noise that comes from the back of his throat, letting me know he understands. There will be nothing more said about law school. I lost him.

I piddle around in the back. I turn all the beer bottles to face forward, even though no one can see them. I've developed a few ticks, to say the least. The worst is the twitch in the corner of my left eye if the candle isn't placed on top of the post. You wouldn't understand.

Bud Light guy walks in. I hand him a Bud Light. He smokes about eighteen cigarettes over the course of the evening. I debate back and forth, internally: Do I want a cigarette? Yes, no. No. Wait, yes. Shit.

It's a rainy Monday, but it feels like a rainy Sunday, and I should be in bed, sleeping. If I were to have a husband, he should be in bed too, but reading. Rainy Sundays always feel married.

It gets dark enough to light the candles. I light the ones on the bar first (tick), then the ones on the tables (tick), and finally the one that sits atop the post (tick tick). I pour four shots of vodka and distribute them to the gentlemen. Some sip on them, others throw the stuff down the hatch quickly, so as not to have to taste what feels, smells, like rubbing alcohol. They holler down to their stomachs, "Look out below!"

Someone comes in and cheesily asks, "Have your hours been happy?"
"Sure. They usually are."
Person laughs, cheesily, and asks for a beer by sounding out the acronym: "Uh, get me a peeber."
"A what?"
Laughs. I'm thinking this is the cheesiest person I've ever met. "A PBR."
I laugh too, in a nice way, a professional way.

I plan on going home to walk my dog and maybe eat. I won't be there long - my sanctuary has been transplanted to another place which I have yet to find.