I rolled my eyes and slid onto my usual stool. The word “usual” was becoming another problem entirely, because apparently, I had a usual stool now. A bartender appeared before I could flag anyone down, and a moment later a glass was placed in front of me — my drink, already made. I looked at it, then up at Hector.
“You always remember my drink?” I ask.
“You order the same thing every time,” he replied with a shrug.
The answer shouldn’t have pleased me as much as it did but it did anyway.
Over the next hour the bar filled steadily. Music drifted through the room while conversations overlapped around us. People came and went, drinks were poured, and glasses were collected.
It wasn't like what I was used to the difference becoming more noticeable every time I visited. Nobody here wanted
