The bouncer and the bartender.

Ages and ages ago, there was a pub me and the boys haunted in downtown Wherever-the-Hell.

Irish. Of course.

You could find us there on any given night… on the patio when it was nice… heck, sometimes even when it wasn't. You don't wanna know how many Harps and snakebites and shots of Jager got consumed…

Anyways. Point is. A few years later, after I'd moved my cat to the other side of the country, I was back in town for a visit. Some things had changed, some things hadn't… as is the way of things. So no surprise, we met up at the old pub.

Don't remember what the problem with the bouncer was… maybe my ID was stuck in my wallet, or maybe he was baffled by the out of state license, or whatever… but it was taking some time for him to let us in. Then suddenly, the same old bartender appeared… He gave me a big smile and a wave before telling the bouncer “Go on, let the lad in!”

The bouncer—probably younger than I was by that point—looked back and asked “He's ok?”

And Edwyn—the bartender—gave me a mock-critical eye for a moment before saying “Aye… He's not ok… but he's alright.”

Bouncer shrugged, and let me in.

So what I’m saying is, babe…

I may not be ok…
But I'm alright.

So, don't you worry about me.

I'm here. And I always will be. Promise.

Yours.

PS—Guess maybe you're probably starting to really see her, aren't you? Sorry, babe…