Good Old 'Everyoneelse'

Here he is again.

Every day at opening time the dishevelled, grizzly bearded man slopes into my bar.

He’s often earlier than my barmaid but then… she still has dreams away from here.

He drags himself across with his cane pulling his life in a trolley bag behind him to the far side of the bar.

When he is not here I do not know where he goes nor do I particularly care.

I don’t want to be here a moment longer than I have to be not even in thought.

He raises his hand and I pour his first - a cheap gin drunk by the pint. Probably not legal but who cares- I know I don’t.

The hours pass away like this. Hand raised, another pint of liquor.

People ebb and flow around him like a tide but like an old wreck he is unmoved by any of them.

He says not a word the whole night to anyone. Never does.

I’m sure this is not how he planned his life. To be filthy and unwanted, not better than the rats in the alley, downing pints of gin all day.

But then I hadn’t planned to be here either serving him bottles of liquid no better than nail polish remover. Pleased that as he slowly kills himself at least he pays his tab at the end of every night.

As last orders are rung out and everyone else has long gone including the barmaid with dreams; finally he stands from his stool.

Swaying he declares clearly:

“To Good Ol’Me and to good ol’everyoneelse!”

Then he leaves- dragging himself and his life out of the bar to who knows and who cares where.

And every night I feel the same coldness.

After all who is he toasting? Who does he see?

And worse how long is it until he is me?