12/3/2019
He was never much of a talker, but tonight he’s particularly chatty. He’s just in the best mood. Seriously. You’ve never seen him happier. It’s like some weight had been lifted. You try and dismiss the cliche nature of that last thought. You’re a writer, dammit. You’re better than that. Still, the important thing is that whatever had been weighing him down is gone. He’s relaxed and confident. He’s never been those things. Ever. Not in the twenty years you’ve known him anyway. Hell, he’s even dressing better. Then it clicks.
He finally got laid. Twenty-six years of tension have finally been released (okay, more like thirteen). Good for him, you think.
Suddenly someone from across the bar catches his eye. He goes to call them over, but stops short. Suddenly the boulders on his shoulders return. There’s a flicker in his face before the lights fizzle out. You turn around to see what he was looking at. Two men are standing at the bar. They set down their drinks. The tall one places his hand on the small of the other’s back and leads him out the door.
Your oldest friend, all pretenses dropped, watches them leave.