text: “Last call, old timer,” the bartender bellowed. The sad, old man looked up. “Glad to see you’re alive,” the bartender told him. “You don’t look so hot.” “I’m fine,” the old man assured him. “Just been having some troubles lately.” “Well, it’s just you and me now,” the bartender said, topping off the old man. “Tell me your story.” The old man took a sip of his gin and tonic. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” “Oh, I wouldn’t?” The bartender capped the bottle of gin and set it back up on the shelf for the night. “I do have a life outside this bar, you know.” “I know.” The old man looked down at his drink and fidgeted nervously. The bartender could see he wasn’t going to budge. “Listen,” the bartender said. “If you don’t wanna talk, I’m not gonna make ya.” With that, he took out his rag and started cleaning the glasses. He had thought maybe when all the other patrons had cleared out, the old man would be more at ease, but every passing minute made him more anxious. “Did you call your wife tonight?” the old man asked abruptly. The bartender put down his rag. “I have not,” the bartender said. “Why do you ask?” “You were talking about her earlier. Said you’d gotten in a fight.” “We did, yeah. What makes you so interested now and not earlier when I wasn’t about to close this joint down?” “It’s just getting late,” the man said from behind his glass. “I think you should call her.” The bartender looked at his watch. “It’s nearly one A.M.” he said. “She’s definitely asleep by now.” “She’d wake up if you called her.” The bartender let out a chuckle. “Trust me,” he said. “If I called her now, we’d really get in a fight.” “I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.” The bartender looked over the old man. He had a familiar face, but the bartender couldn’t quite place him. “Do I know you?” the bartender asked him. “I’ve been here before,” he replied. “You got a name?” “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He was a real elusive drunk, the bartender thought. “When did you say your daughter’s birthday was?” the old man asked. The bartender paused. Clearly the old man had been paying more attention than he’d given him credit for. “It’s on Thursday,” he said. “You don’t talk much, but you sure do listen.” “It comes with age.” the old man said. “When you get as old as me you don’t know how much time you got left to hear someone else’s voice.” The bartender paused. The sad, old man at the end of the bar was turning out to be more than just some depressed drunk. “That’s some sage advice right there,” the bartender said. “You want some more sage advice?” he asked. “Call your wife.” The old man’s eyes were watery. Normally, the bartender saw himself as a comforter of weary souls, but it was about five minutes past close, and all he could think about was getting home. “I think you mighta had one too many gin & tonics, old timer,” the bartender said. “Plus, it’s too late for a heart to heart.” The bartender went to the register and printed out the old man’s tab. “Look, I don’t wanna kick you out on the street, but I’m getting a little anxious to close.” He handed the old man the receipt. He fumbled around his pockets looking for a pen, but the old man pulled one out of his jacket pocket. “Funny, we got those same style pens here,” the bartender joked. “You didn’t swipe it did you?” The old man shook his head and slid the receipt back to the bartender. The bartender went to place the receipt in the drawer with the others but stopped when he read the signature. “Alright, wise guy,” the bartender said turning back to the old man. “How ‘bout you write your real name on here?” “I told you you wouldn’t believe me.” By this point, the bartender had had just about enough of this sad, old man and was going to not be so nice. “Look, we’re closing, old timer,” the bartender said sternly. “So, sign you’re name, and get outta here.” “I’ll sign my name,” he said. “If you call your wife.” The bartender threw his rag on the ground. “For Chrissake, if that’s what’ll get you outta here, I’ll call my wife.” The bartender pulled his phone out and dialed home. The old man sat on pins and needles as the phone rang. “Straight to voicemail,” the bartender said. “I told you she’s asleep.” “Oh no, what time is it?” the old man asked frantically. “It’s about ten minutes past closing.” The old man checked his watch. “Damn, I thought we had more time.” “What the hell are you talking about?” the bartender snapped. The old man reached into his pocket and pulled out a newspaper clipping. He handed it to the bartender whose face turned red with rage as he read it. “What the hell is this?!” he yelled at the man. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way I--” “Get the hell outta my bar. Now!” With that, the old man gathered himself and walked out the door, shaking his head. “Goddamn drunks are getting crazier everyday,” the bartender grumbled to himself. He knew he wasn’t getting out of here anytime soon. Finally, after all the glasses had been polished and receipts counted, the bartender flicked off the lights and began locking up the place. Just as he was fumbling for his keys, his phone rang. He expected it was his wife ready to chew him out for waking her up and being out so late, but the call came from an unknown number. The bartender let it ring as he hopped in his car. ... They were being carried out in body bags when he arrived home. The official investigation says faulty wiring caused the fire that burned down the house. They assured him the firefighters had done all they could, but by the time they’d gotten there, the fire had consumed so much of the structure it was in danger of collapsing. He hasn’t been back to work since. He spends a lot of time in bars these days, but he mostly keeps to himself. Sometimes, in the late hours of the night, he’ll dole out sage advice. And he always makes sure to tell you to call your wife.