I went cold, and after taking a moment to compose myself, I slowly lifted my head. Sure enough, straight across from me with two other friends I recognized sat Jeff. He was dressed in a suit and tie as though he’d come straight from the office. He was laughing at something that had been said, and then he stopped and looked back up at the television. It was obvious he had yet to see me. My first instinct was to simply stand and leave before he did.

I slammed the rest of my Corona. I had planned to slide off the stool but something kept me rooted there instead. I’m not exactly sure what. Perhaps some odd desire to make amends for one of many misdeeds I had done. Or maybe it was simply due to the sight of a familiar face during a time I felt most alone. I guess the reason is irrelevant, and when the bartender returned and asked in his thick brogue if he could get me another, I declined. “But I’m curious,” I said. “How much is a shot of Johnny Walker Blue Label?”

“Ahh, drinkin’ the good stuff, are we? A shot there of the Blue will run you forty.”

I nodded. The Corona had left me with forty-six dollars in my wallet. “In that case, I’d like to order one and send it across the bar.”

“Absolutely. And to whom will we be sending it?”

“To the man in the dark suit and yellow tie, please.”

“With the slicked-back hair?”

“That’s the one.”

I reached into my wallet and laid two twenties on the bar. The Irishman swiped them away. “Coming right up,” he said.

I took the rest of my cash—a five and a one—and left them for a tip. Then I watched the bartender uncork the bottle of Blue and carefully fill a shot glass to the brim with it. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous, because I was. Part of me wanted to flee, even then, just make for the door and get the hell out of there. Another part, however—the part of me that still yearns to be a writer and bear witness to unpredictable scenes and situations out of curiosity alone—asserted itself and caused me to stay. I truly had no idea what to expect.