April 10th, 2013
Gloomy Sunday

“Maybe.” He took another sip. “You smoke?”

“Not really. I used to, but I stopped.”

He nodded. “Yeah? Good. Good for you. I just started again. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

“It’s pouring.”

He smiled and stood up. “That’s all right.”

He left his coat on the back of the chair. I watched him from the window as he stood under the awning, tapping his right foot. It took him a few tries to light his cigarette. Thick droplets of water clung to the plastic for a moment, then fell along his head, dampening his dull, graying hair. He shivered, then tossed his half-finished cigarette into the street, stepped out from under the awning, and lifted his head to the sky. He just stood out there for a moment, grinning, as the color of his shirt darkened to midnight blue. Then, he walked back in, sat down, and took another sip of his drink.

“You forgot your jacket,” I said.

“I left my jacket. ‘Forgot implies a lack of intent.”

“Okay,” I said. “Fair enough.”

“I don’t really drink, you know.”

I laughed. “You should start.”

“No, I used to, but I don’t anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used to drink. Then I got stopped. But last week was bad.”

I leaned back against the wall and massaged my forehead. “I don’t know how good I feel about pouring you that drink, Sir.”

“It’s Jason. And please, don’t. It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. Anyway, this is my last day, and then I’m done. Will you get me another? Please? What’s your name, anyway?”

“Mary,” I said.

“Mary.” He smiled.

His salad order was up. I walked over to the kitchen, grabbed the plate, and stabbed the ticket.

“You all right out there, kid?” asked Manny, the sous chef. He wiped his hands on his apron.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” I winked, and walked back out to the bar.

“Here,” I said, placing the salad in front of him. “Why don’t you eat a little, too?”

He gave it a withering look. “I will. Don’t worry.”

This time, I made sure the pour was only about half an ounce.

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