"What'll it be?"
"Jack."
"Want ice."
"No."
The bartender pours the brown liquid into a tumbler. I wait patiently.
"First time here?"
"No."
I take a swig and end up downing the whole glass. I point down at the empty vessel. He answers my request.
"Funny, I don't remember seeing you come in here before."
The place was a empty. It was late on a Tuesday, understandable why there wasn't a crowd in here. The lights were dim and mahogany colored bar reflected what little light it could find.
"Yeah, it was a couple of months ago."
I point again. He answers again.
"So what brings you in tonight."
"Nothing really. Just a celebration of sorts."
"What are we celebrating."
I can't bare to tell him.
"Nothing really."
I point. He pours. And then he pulls out another glass, and pours himself a double.
"Well, then I guess here is to nothing."
"To nothing."
In 1921, he flew from the Great Rift Valley.