THE BAR RUSH ISN’T half of what I hoped for. The patrons are steady, some are regulars, but the drinks flow without rush. I’m able to do everything and then some. I even sweep in my free time, keeping behind the bar clean. I make change, check I.D.s. I set up tabs, return cards, even have a few conversations, but nothing clicks.
I feel like a f*****g robot. I get an apology from a coworker about my dad, but barely hear it. It doesn’t feel right to say thanks when it doesn’t bother me. Hell, it bothers me more that it doesn’t bother me.
And that doesn’t hold a candle to how upset I am about losing Zoey. I’ll never get another text. I’ll never get another warm kiss. I’ll never get to hold her hand, tease her, see that post-s*x smile, hear her soft encouragements or dirty talk or ... f**k.
