As dour as my life seemed to be, however, I must have had a guardian angel on my side. One night, when I was downing shots in the bar right and left, I met the next man to spirit me away.
“Just one more,” I told Bert at the bar, and he was about to pour the shot of whiskey into my tiny glass.
“I don’t think so,” I heard a voice behind me. I saw a hand come around in front of me and sweep my glass away.
“What are you doing!” I snapped. I was slurring my words, but I’m sure my unseen friend could tell that I was mad. As I turned around, I was surprised to see a fellow I’d often seen at Bert’s bar usually just sitting watchfully by himself at a corner table.
“You’ve had enough, Tessa. It is Tessa isn’t it?” he said.
“Yeah, sure, but . . .”
“You really should call a halt to her drinkin
