The man walks in, he looks messy and uptight.
“What’ll it be this time?” asks the bartender.
“Get me a Guiness,” he says.
He is given a Guinness. It isn’t the best Guinness he’s ever seen. Having said that, it hasn’t settled. Anyway, is he really best placed to judge a pint of Guinness?
He takes a sip. His facial expression suggests that it isn’t too bad, yet certainly not too good.
His ex would probably say that he indeed was the best placed to judge the pint.
Fuck that bitch, he thinks to himself. New Year, old me…no her.
He takes another glance at the vessel in his hand.
At least one more year, surely? he surmises
He takes a quick glance around, thinking about what used to be, but now isn’t. Families, friends, others. Community.
Now just me.
No revelation to him. Certainly wasn’t news. Sobering, nonetheless.
Well, here’s to me.
He ceremoniously lifts his glass, almost as if to propose a toast to himself.