The Loner

Barry Morton walks to the edge of the street and stops. He raises his eyes from where they were directed, at the ground two feet in front of him, and checks both directions for cars before continuing across the street and into Fazzo's Pub. His gait is tired and weak.

He labors over to the bar and lifts himself up on one of the barstools. Without looking up, he taps his finger three times on the bar in front of him. Roger, the bartender, turns in the direction of Barry's tapping.

He nods his head almost imperceptibly and grabs a drink glass in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other. He salts the rim of the glass, sets the glass on the edge of the bar, and scoops ice into the glass with the same hand. He then pours tequila on top of the ice in one smooth motion where he raises the spout of the tequila bottle high above the glass and then lowers it back down. While he pours the tequila, he grabs a plastic bottle of off-white liquid in his other hand and pours it in the same fashion as he poured the tequila. Once the glass is full, he tips up both of the bottles and places them back where he had found them in a rack by the bar. All in all, it takes only three seconds for Roger to make the drink, pick it up in his hands, and place it down in front of Barry.

Barry pulls the drink to him. He then takes out his wallet from his back pocket, removes a couple of bills, and hands them to Roger. In a flash, Roger snatches the money out of Barry's hand and slams a couple of coins on the bar next to Barry's drink. "Tough one today?" Roger asks.

"Yep," Barry says, without looking up.

"Worse than normal?"

"Nope."

"So about average then?"

Barry raises his eyes and glares at Roger. Roger retreats a step. After two or three seconds, Barry lowers his eyes back to his drink. Roger shrugs his shoulders and walks to the far end of the bar where the waitresses and waiters make their drink orders. He then grabs a rag and walks the perimeter of the bar, scans its surface, and wipes it with the rag in half a dozen places.

Roger approaches where Barry is sitting. With the rag still in his hand, Roger wipes up a couple of small puddles sitting near Barry's drink. "Is the family fine?" Roger asks Barry.

"Yep." Barry says, his eyes still glued to the drink in front of him.

"Nobody's sick?"

"Nope."

"So all is well and good then?"

Barry continues to stare at his drink. Roger looks at Barry intently, but Barry doesn't move his eyes or open his mouth to speak. Roger tugs on his clip-on bowtie a few times before turning back around and walking to the other side of the bar. After a few minutes, Barry taps his finger three times on the bar. Roger hears the tapping, turns toward Barry, and proceeds to make another drink just like the one he made earlier. Roger removes the empty glass from in front of Barry and places down the newly created drink in its stead. "Think it's gonna rain?" Roger asks.

"Yep." Barry says without moving his head at all.

"Think you'll get wet walking home?"

"Nope."

"So you don't think it will rain until later then?"

Barry picks up the drink in front of him. He raises it to his lips, tips it up, and empties all of it into his mouth. He then sets the empty drink glass back down on the bar and lifts himself off of the barstool.

Roger watches as Barry, eyes staring down, walks to the door. Barry stops and turns toward Roger. "Thanks." Barry says and exits onto the sidewalk. He walks to the edge of the street and stops. He raises his eyes to look both ways for cars, crosses the street, and lumbers down the sidewalk.

He whistles to himself a low, cheery tune as he walks. After about 30 steps, a couple stray drops of rain fall down and hit him on the cheek. "Oops." He says to himself and continues walking down the sidewalk with his eyes directed at a spot no more than two feet in front.