Robert sat alone in a dimly lit bar and nursed his second Bloody Mary. The first one he downed in several long swallows—he needed the fortification its alcohol would supply—but this one he would take his time with. He slowly stirred his drink with a rather limp stalk of celery and listened to the ice cubes clink together.

It was the middle of the week so the bar was not crowded. Toward the back a juke box played a melancholy ballad; it was a perfect song to fit Robert’s mood, since his life was coming apart and apparently he could do nothing about it. Except drink, he thought morosely, so he took another swallow of his Bloody Mary.

Someone sat down at the bar a few stools down from him, but Robert did not bother to look up from his drink to see who it might be.

“I’ll have a draft, please,” he heard a woman tell the bartender. Her beer arrived and a few moments later she moved over to the stool next to Robert. “Hi,” she said to him, even though he still stared at his drink. “Do you mind if I sit here?” she asked.

“No,” he said, “not at all.” She sat down, then placed her beer and purse on the bar.

“Hope you don’t mind,” she continued, “I just really didn’t feel like being alone tonight.”

Robert turned to look at her and smiled. “Tonight is not a night to be alone,” he said. She was a few years younger than he, and pretty in a general way. “My name is Robert,” he said to her and held out his hand.

She returned his smile and held out her own hand. “Hi, Robert, I’m Eileen,” she said, and they clasped hands for a moment. “Oh,” she said as she looked at his hand. “I see you wear a ring on your thumb. Does that signify anything special?” Eileen asked.

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