The kid was waiting in front of the bar.
The kid held roses and an eager smile.
The kid kept looking left and right.
But still no one in sight.
The rain started pouring down.
One of the drunks came out
“Kid, come in, you’re going to be sick”
“But I’m waiting for someone”
“You can wait inside, come on”
The kid went in. The kid took a seat next to the door. The kid didn’t want to miss her.
The kid kept eyes on the door.
“Hey kid you’re drinking something or what?”
“I’m waiting for someone”
:“You can’t just sit here and not drink anything”
“Come on, Bob, leave the kid alone. You can see the kid’s been stood up”
“No, she’s coming”
“I know, kid, I know. I understand. More than you know. Here bob, take this. Bring this kid a beer”
“I’m waiting for-”
“I know, I know. You might as well drink one with me while waiting right?”
The kid finished the first beer. No sign of her.
The kid finished the second beer. Still waiting.
The kid finished the third beer. It was delicious.
The kid grew older.
The kid enjoyed it. The taste. The effect.
The kid found a smile again.
The kid sang with the others.
The kid shared stories with the others.
The kid started writing his story in the third person.
It helped to keep a distance with the pain.
The beer helped too.
Until one day, some 40 years later. A kid appeared. You appeared. With roses and an eager smile.
I had to talk to you.
You only came in when the rain started pouring.
Bob was gone. His son brought the beer.
You’re not alone. I understand. More than you know.
