Lou scoffed loudly at the television. “Yeah, whatever. You haven’t delivered MY world in years. Buncha assholes.”

Nobody looked in his direction – not even the bartender. He was busy putting the make on a woman who’d seen better days. In Lou’s opinion, that is. But she’s the only broad in the joint. This place is dead.

It was another typical Tuesday night. Nodding to no one in particular, Lou finished off his Jack’n’Coke and lit up a cigarette. He’d told himself he was gonna quit…one day. He’d also sworn off booze and told Phil to go fuck himself. Just like he did about every two months or so. Just like he bitched that the tavern was dead each Tuesday. Just like his pointless rants against the commercials on TV.

Phil refreshed his drink without a word or a smirk. “Gonna have to take those outside come New Year’s, Lou.”

“I know, I know. Whaddya gonna do, right?”

“Right. Whaddya gonna do.”

“I need to quit this shit anyway.”

“Might as well.”

The barkeep drifted back down to his mark. Lou realized it was only last week that he’d read Phil the riot act after a rather nasty bender. But Phil took it like a trooper and acted like nothing had happened barely three days later. God…how long have I been doing this shit? Lou shoved the burgeoning realization aside and downed half his drink in hopes of silencing it.

He realized he was not alone. Taking a long drag off his Winston, he tried to peripherally eyeball the person who’d sidled up next to him. Lou thought it might be the guy that was browsing the juke box a few minutes ago. Yeah. Gotta be. Only five friggin’ people here tonight. I need to find a new watering hole. Dimly, the part of him almost unaffected by the alcohol insisted that it was an empty threat.

“Whatcha drinkin’ there, buddy?”

Lou turned his head and sized the man up. He definitely wasn’t a regular, but he wasn’t so well-dressed as to be out of place. Still, Lou couldn’t place him. But he felt he should have been able to. Exhaling slowly, he muttered, “Jack’n’Coke. That alright with you?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?” He slid fully onto the adjacent stool. “Hey Phil – how ‘bout another for my new friend here. And one for me, too.”

For almost a second, Lou thought Phil might be taken off guard. Then he shook his head. The bartender shot a thousand-watt grin their way – one he never afforded Lou – and moved to get fresh glasses. The lounge lizard even winked at him. At least, he assumed it was for him. Turning back to the stranger, he felt doubt enter his mind.

He extinguished his cigarette and offered a meaty hand. “Sorry pal – din’t mean to get off on the wrong foot. Do I know you?”

The new guy reached out and gave him a hearty shake. Exactly right – not too firm, not too wimpy…just perfect. He had a full head of brownish hair and rugged good looks – but not too much so. His clothes were neat, but not new. And not too trendy. Lou felt his internal barometer rest precisely in the middle. The man was barely on the high plus side of average. Even mediocre would seem insulting. Whatever his name is, I don’t fucking care. This guy is Everyman if I ever saw him.

Lou polished off the rest of his booze to drown out a derisive snort. For him, “Everyman” would be a serious ascension. At forty-five, he easily had fifteen years on the guy, and at least a hundred pounds. Don’t even get me started about the hair...

“No…but I know you. Tom. Tom Smith. Pleased to meetcha, Lou.”

Phil set their next round down in front of them. Tom dismissed him with a curt nod. “Lou, did anyone ever tell ya that you look like a larger version of Danny DeVito?”

“Only about a million times.” He picked up the new drink. “How’d ya know my name…uh…Tom?” Lou felt mild disorientation steal over him. He used the less muddled part of his brain to try to figure out how long it had been since lunch. Jesus. What time is it anyway? The clock was too far away to read.

“Never mind that now, Lou. Tell me more about what you said earlier.”

“What I said earlier? Whaddya mean? I just met ya.” He quit squinting across the room and turned back to his neighbour. “I think.”

Tom chuckled politely. “Of course you did, Lou. I’m talking about the TV. You said something at the TV.”

Lou began to suspect that the odd sensation might not be from the lack of food in his stomach. He glanced back at Phil for affirmation. Phil was whispering something to the barfly. It was a scene he’d witnessed over and over again, yet this time it seemed oddly surreal – like they were trying real hard to look normal. A smidge of his drunkenness cracked.

He smiled at Tom. “Hey – thanks for the drink, pal. I don’t know what you’re trying to sell tonight, but I’m not interested.”

Very measured, he stood up and gauged his balance. All systems blinked functional. Lou collected his smokes and turned toward the door. His new friend made no move to stop him. Slowly moving toward the entrance, Lou called out to Phil to put it on his tab. Then he stepped out into the night…and the wretched normalcy he was so familiar with.

Home was only five blocks from the tavern. That was a big part of the reason he would probably never change his routine. It was too easy. In fact, he couldn’t remember which came first: drinking at Phil’s or moving to the downtown apartment. Surely I didn’t pick this rat hole to be closer to my bar, did I?

Lou laughed out loud. Already, the weirdness behind him was fading into hazy memory. And he knew he had a six-pack in the fridge back at home. Maybe more. I should be so lucky.

The night was brisk. Between the temperature and the walk, his mind was partially reawakened by the time he started digging for his keys. What the hell was I saying to the TV anyway? It’s not like I keep track or shit. Jesus. Buncha fucking creeps in this town. Lou fumbled with the knob for a minute, almost falling head-first into his living room when he finally opened the door. Shit. Wonder if he was one of those queers that lost his way from the bar down the street. He shook his head in dramatic disgust. Faggots need to stay in their own friggin’ playground. Not like we go down there.

He made a beeline for the refrigerator, guided only by the clock on the microwave. Lou opened it up and grabbed a beer. He popped the top, drank deeply, and belched while he assessed the remaining contents. Fuck it. Snagging the rest of the six-pack by the empty ring, he turned around to hit the light and close the front door – still ajar from his unsteady entry.

Lou yelped when he saw the silent figure sitting in his recliner.

Beer foamed all over the floor where it was dropped, neither caring nor wishing to issue an opinion.