“Could I get another?”

“Sorry, the bar is closed.”

“Oh, the bar’s closed?” I repeated it quickly to make it go away.

“Sorry, sir.”

“What about last call?” “I made the announcement 15 minutes ago.”

“No, you didn’t.” My voice sounded outside of me.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I must have been in the bathroom.”

He started to take my glass.

“Just a pint. I’ll finish it in 5 minutes.” The ringing in my ears was worse; I had to see a doctor.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s still 6 minutes to, right?” Could he even hear what I said? “I’ll be finished by the time you close.”

He took my glass.

“You’re not serious.”

And walked away.

“What the fuck…?”

The woman beside looked half around and pulled her purse closer in.

I slid the stool abruptly back. “I’m Jason B., man! What do you think I want with that?”

The bartender returned. “Sir, do we have a problem here?”

“I just asked for another beer, all right?”

“Do we have a problem?”

I blinked back, open and closed, like a mechanical doll. “No, we don’t.”

It was warm outside, still, and the streets were quiet. I just needed one more.