He was young, the barman
young and skinny with
dark hair and a face
you couldn’t read.
He’d served us for a long
time, months, maybe years,
I didn’t care to count,
but he’d served us for a good
long while. We’d not seen him
for weeks
and then he was there
hair neat and short,
smart shirt, spruced.
He’d been at university, thinking
about his future.
He was a student,
finance or something,
and he’d hated it. He was
going to pack it in. Don’t
do what makes you
miserable,
I said. Do what you like.
You’ll have to
face enough shit
in your life without
working at it.
I know.
But don’t take my advice,
I said. Make your own
mistakes.
That’s where the fun is.
That’s living.
Thanks for the advice,
he said.
I didn’t know I’d
given any.
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