Man: Barkeep, looks like it's just you and me. We won the party tonight, heh?

Cleveland: Yeah, boss. Ain't no one left standing but you and me.

M: God damn right. That reminds me of a time in college. . .

That should give me at least three or four minutes before I have to talk again. Is it worth pointing out that I'm the bartender and night manager? I WIN THE PARTY EVERY NIGHT! It used to mean something to me. Back before it was so damned inevitable.

M: And Tony says to me, he says. . .

Still, what do I care? I made good money on the tables. And I cleaned up with a couple hundred at the bar. This after work crowd really shells it out in the good times. And on a Monday night? Time to pull up a lawn chair and hand out the gold watch. I'm ready to retire.

M: Now this was the third time this chick. . .

Yeah, what do I care if this guy is trying to relive the old glory days? Or maybe he's just trying to get a taste of the night owl style that doesn't come with the suit. Or maybe he's trying to fuck the man by showing up to work drunk tomorrow. Either way, it doesn't really affect me and these dirty glasses and the bar stools and lights and taps and ice machine and. . .

M: And I won that mother fucker. You know. I'm looking a little dry here barkeep. Tie me off before I hit the road?

C: One for the road partner.

M: What do you think about the Mets this year. . .

The trains are already running late. The bums are already on them. It's not like I'm going to see my kids at this hour. And who knows? Maybe this guy is going to tip? That would be easy money. Laying down a tip when I'm just closing the bar. I could take that to Tabitha tomorrow. Take everyone out to eat. An extra twenty in the pocket goes a long way.

M: You watch much ball?

C: Not much baseball. My girl plays softball. Michelle. I make it out to see her when I can.

M: Michelle? That's great. Just great. It's good to show an interest in the kids. Shows you love them. How many do you have?

C: Well, my softball girl is ten. My youngest is six and already a writer. Both pretty cute girls.

M: Take after their mother, I bet. Huh?

C: You're looking dry there, hoss. You need another?

M: No. One more will put me under the table for sure . . . . I'm sloshed.

C: No crime in that.

M: Damn. Kids, man. I don't have one myself. But maybe one of these days. . . No time soon, I'm sure. But one of these days. . . Yeah. . .

C: I bet you'd be a good father.

M: You think?

C: Yeah, why not?

M: Yeah. . . why not?

I like that pause. I like that smile. I have to focus on the good parts.

M: Well, it's about that time. What do I owe you barkeep?

C: Twenty three friend. You need a cab?

M: Yes. But I'm going to slap this on the table and you keep the change brother. I've got enough for a cab.

C: See you around kid.

Don't look at him while he throws the money down. Guilting a man into buying the service I'm selling never sits honest. He might search around in his pocket for another quarter or two. But I need to be more than a bread winner. I need to be a father who will need to look his girls in the eye eventually. And those eyes are a clear mirror reflecting my soul. He's probably out the door now.

C: Holy shit.

$100 sitting under the bottle.

C: Holy shit.

Is that the door?

M: Hey barkeep. I got the cab waiting outside. What's the name of your youngest?

C: Her name is Alexa.