The bar was empty.
The bartender finished wiping off the last table, leaving the bar in the very condition he had opened it in. The cleanup, no matter what all had happened during the evening, had the same monotonous fix to it. He enjoyed the repetition, as much as he enjoyed the unexpected events that sprung forth from the patrons during the rest of the evening.
The bar was empty.
The small assortment of items that were left behind, as there always was. He put them in the same cabinet as he always did, recognizing some of them as belonging to regular clientele. No matter how careful anyone was, how drunk they weren’t, this always happened. Though he was certain one of these was done on purpose, though it appeared the person it was always left for would never notice who was trying to pick him up.
The bar was empty.
He sat down, alone, and poured himself a drink.
A good night’s work.
