“I know what you’re thinking, but we can’t make exceptions for officers,” the bartender said as he picked up the empty tumbler, wiping the sweat from the outside and placing it bottoms-up among the other dirty cups in the sink.<\/p>\n
“You mean I’m done, right?” Officer Winter looked up. His eyes were glazed, ever so slightly. He’d drowned his sorrows at the bar before, but he’d never stayed this late. He wasn’t sloshed; he’d gotten a late start, but it seemed that last call was, indeed, the last call.<\/p>\n
“Not in so many words, sir, but yes. We have to clean up shop, and that means everyone needs to clear out.” Winter looked up, pleading with his eyes, his shoulders, whatever other parts of his body were still under his control. “You’ll just have to be sad somewhere else, sir.” The bartender was sympathetic, but firm. He had clearly been trained well. His eyes said I’m sorry<\/i>, but the rest of him said Please just leave. I don’t want a scene.<\/i><\/p>\n
Winter got up, tossed a few bills onto the bar to pay for his final few drinks and made his way to the door.<\/p>\n
“When do you guys open again tomorrow?” he asked, over his shoulder, as he was almost out the door.<\/p>\n
“1600, sir. Have a good night.”<\/p>\n
Winter chuckled under his breath. A good night would be a miracle after the day he’d had.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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