"It's fine.", he said.
Picking up the tulip glass in front of him, he held it up to the light for a moment and paused at it's cloudy golden colour. What was he doing here at 3 in the afternoon on a Wednesday? Was it because he had no where else to go or was he hiding out?
He came to the brewery just often enough to get a nod and a "Hello, how are ya?", from the guy working the taproom but not enough to become overly familiar with anyone. He took a spot at the end of the bar, 3 or 4 times a week, and had 2 glasses before leaving.
Today wasn't any different but it was. He didn't know what he was doing with his life anymore, so he came here and sat, drinking first a pale ale and now a saison. He thought, "Maybe just one more.", and despite the fact that he would probably not stop at 3, he ordered it anyway
Making his way to a table, he had already decided he wasn't going to drive home and loosened his tie with the intention of never putting it on again. Maybe it was time to change the direction of his life or maybe it was too late already.
These kinds of decisions always plagued whenever he had more than 2 glasses and as he slowly dipped his fourth beer, the sour cherry note reminded him of when he was a kid and summer meant fresh cherries from the backyard, when life was full of promise.
This kind of melancholy wasn't helping and as he set his glass down and called for the bill, he realised he had done this before, last week to be exact and now he was faced with the realisation that even the thing he loved had become part of the monotony
In the cab on the way home, he held his growler close. The double IPA inside a breakwall against the night, he hoped. Looking into sunset, he pulled out his phone & called her, again, with little hope except that of a drunk with a beer fueled optimism that he could make it better
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