Friday night, Burns, the bar at the Pine Room, a decent bar.
Todd, a man in fifties with a moustache, orders a beer.
He asks: “What language you are speaking?”
Todd tells us that he is recently divorced, he was living under a magnifying glass, he couldn’t take it anymore, but now he misses her.
He has three children out of his first marriage, but his first wife passed away.
He is the handyman of his tribe, a kind of manager.
I buy him a drink, then I have to go back to my room, a lot of writing needs to be done.
“I like to buy you a drink,” he says.
“Another time.”
You leave people where ever you go, but we hug him. That’s the least we can do.