Barstool

        A man walks into a bar, and nothing funny happens.
        The bar is a small hole in the wall, and it’s almost empty. It’s early in the day, sunlight is peeking in stained glass windows. Nobody should be drinking at this hour.
        The bartender is polishing a glass with a dirty rag when he notices the man in black entering.
        “Come on in,” the bartender says, “take a seat.”
        Sitting at the bar are the only two patrons in the establishment, both with a glass of brown liquid in front of them. They stare off into the distance, neither even acknowledging the man in black entering.
        The man in black removes his black guttered hat and sets it on the bar to claim his space. There are obviously many empty stools around the bar, but the man in black chooses to sit in the stool right between the two men. His long black coat, that he chose not to remove before sitting, hangs like drapes around the stool.
        The man in black holds up a finger and says, “Black Label, neat.”
        The bartender grabs a bottle from the shelf. He sets a glass in front of the man in black, and pours exactly two fingers of scotch without even measuring with his own fingers.
        The man in black’s hand is already grasping the glass before the bartender is even finished pouring. He lifts the glass and takes a sip, his lips smack as the alcohol soaks his taste buds. He lets out a hot breathe that now reeks of liquor. He looks back and forth between the two men at the bar on either side of him and asks, “Bad days?”
        The man on his right slightly jumps, having been so deep in thought he hadn’t even noticed the man sat next to him until now. He takes a moment to process the question and answers, “The worst.” He lifts his glass and shoots back the rest of its contents, then lifts a finger to signal the bartender to pour him another.
        The man on his left lets out an obviously fake chuckle through his nose, then takes a sip of his drink. He doesn’t even need to respond to answer the question.
        The man in black asks, “What happened?”
        The man on his right sips his drink. “My wife is leaving me,” he says, “she caught me cheating on her.”
        “That’s rough,” the man in black says.
        “I still love her, it was a stupid mistake.”
        The man on the left scoffs and says, “If you think that’s bad, wait until you hear this. I was seeing this woman, she was perfect. I fell in love with her, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I confessed my love to her and that’s when she decides to tell me she’s married.”
        “Harsh,” the man in black says.
        All three men take a sip of their drinks, and sit in silence for a moment.
        The man on the right asks, “What about you, why are you here?”
        “I’m celebrating,” the man in black says.
        The man on the right snickers and asks, “Yeah? What are you celebrating?”
        “Two assholes fucked my wife.”
        The man on the right tentatively asks, “Why the hell would you celebrate that?”
        Simultaneously, the two men’s phones begin vibrating in their pockets.
        The man in black stands up, picks up his hat from the bar, and places it back on his head. He shoots back the rest of his drink.
        “Because I killed everyone they loved.”
        The man in black slaps a twenty dollar bill on the bar, and walks out.

 

 

end.

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