Story after midnight

"When will you tell me?"

He shakes his head,

 and holds up a hand.

Sits and watches the clock.

Shoulders are tense,

 and for once he ignores the glass in front of him.

Bell tolls twelve,

 and still he sits.

Five minutes later he finally speaks.

"You never know if the clock is properly set."

Drains his glass,

 and calls for another.

Something I have noticed.

As the night grows longer,

 so does his face.

At least til midnight.

He gives me a tired smile,

 and takes a sip.

"Last night here,

  so I might as well give you a story."

I don't know if I want to hear it.

I was curious about his routine.

You notice anyone who becomes a regular.

Some more than others.

So he tells me a story.

"You might want to pour yourself one,

  and a few for me.

  I tend to lose my voice if my throat goes dry."

While ready to retort,

 I notice something.

Everything has grown still.

Everyone has grown still.

He smiles.

"Let me help."

Walks behind the bar,

 and peruses the options.

I am looking at a popcorn kernel in mid pop.

"This might do."

He blows off the dust from a bottle I have never seen before.

"Personal stock.  It follows along."

At this point in time,

 I am convinced somebody slipped me  something.

"Here. Take a sip."

Why not?

  This has to be a dream.

Golden fire from a shot glass,

 and he is using a pint.

"That should give you five."

I don't know if I like his smile.

He drains his glass.

Pours another,

 and offers me another shot.

Why not?

I toss it off,

 and notice that popcorn kernel still hasn't fully popped.

"That should bring you up to twenty-five."

This has to be a dream.

Nobody is moving,

 and I can't help myself.

I keep looking at that damn popcorn kernel.

"You notice how I get around 12?

  It is because of how many I have seen.

I am unable to stay in one place for too long,

 and this is why I must move along."

"Another shot?"

He asks this while finishing another pint.

That bottle should be empty.

I shake my head.

"It does go to the head.

  I will see you in twenty-five.

   Then, you might understand the story."

Sound of popping corn distracts me,

 and after turning around,

  he is gone.

Twenty-five hundred dollars in old bills are soaking up spilled booze on the bar.