Room For Two

Darren yanks himself free from his green parka, wraps it over the only remaining empty barstool and plops down onto the hardwood.

It's a crowded night at O'Malley's. An affluent, petite pub on the southern tip of a town called Carmine. A roaring crowd is vastly non-typical of this establishment, as Carmine is one of the least populous towns in the area. It is ever only occupied by a fistful of regulars: Crazy Davey who never drinks, but pumps money into the archaic jukebox all night to earn his keep; Sally, a fifty-something who drinks high-end scotch while playing solitaire with a deck of cards older than she; lastly Darren, who sits at the bar every night trying to keep a low profile.

Justin, the barkeep, tends to guests on the other end of the bar. He has yet to look in Darren's direction, but he is a patient man with nowhere else to go.

"What'll it be?" asks Justin, finally noticing Darren amongst the crowd of people flocking his bar.

"Gin and Tonic," says Darren.

"Preference on Gin?" Justin asks, barely making eye contact. His eyes cemented to the new batch of costumers that have joined his bar further down the line.

"Hendricks," says Darren with confusion.

Justin takes another glance at Darren, recognition in his eyes. "Hey, D, how the heck are ya?" Justin's demeanor changes from a simple servant performing a mundane task, to an affable friend welcoming someone into their home. Justin extends his tattoo-covered arm and Darren takes it in an instant. The two shake hands.

"I'm well. Busy night." Darren glances about the room.

"Unexpected. Been running around with my head off."

Justin pours Darren a Gin and Tonic. He slides it across the bar into Darren's open hand.

"Guess there is some sort of convention in town," Justin shouts as he progresses further down the bar to tend to others.

"What sort of convention?" Darren asks, only curious because it is interrupting the vibe of his usual after work hangout.

"Don't know." Justin's voice becomes muffled by the surrounding commotion.

Justin's attention is on others.

Darren takes a sip of his cocktail, feeling the calm rush over him in an instant.

Darren leans forward; he hovers over his drink, protecting it like a bear protects her cubs. This is his time. A time for peace. A time to let the worries of the day fade. This is a quiet place, except that it isn't. Not tonight. The place is madness: unfamiliar dance music blaring over the jukebox, people shuffling in small circles on a dance floor Darren has never noticed before, and boisterous conversations in every corner. Had Darren known the place was a shitshow, he'd have gone down the road to The Wellington Tap; not a place as charming or as peaceful as this one, but still a place he could hold his own.

Justin makes another pass in his direction. Darren isn't ready for another drink yet so he avoids eye contact. Justin is swift. He moves up and down the bar like a cheetah on speed, slinging drinks to each and every thirsty patron with cash in hand.

The jukebox selection shifts from an amped-up electronic dance number, to a slower, but still lively, hip hop tune. Not the usual playlist for Crazy Davey. He was more of a Rock 'N' Roll kind of guy. Darren turns around in his seat to face the jukebox. He looks over the crowd for Crazy Davey's wild long hair. He doesn't catch it over by the jukebox – someone must have beaten him to the punch tonight. Darren searches for the person in control of the jukebox; whoever he is, he's a brave soul for snatching the jukebox from Crazy Davey; that is after all, how Davey earned his nickname. Beat a guy black and blue simply for putting in a quarter to play a song while Crazy Davey stepped away to the facilities.