By Patience
He walks in through swinging doors like it’s the old west at high noon. He feels like checking his heels for spurs but thinks twice because he’s tired of levity and aching for conversation.
Across the bar, one patron sips a beer, the dim light catching on the amber liquid. Her chestnut hair hangs to her shoulders and tiny wrinkles adorn her eyes. Smiling with anticipation, he glides across the room, sliding on his bated breath.
He’s been waiting for so long, it seems the inevitability is just a drink waiting for a refill, so he orders and takes a seat.
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