The bartender who fears the future.

The bartender who fears the future.

         He'd been working at that place for a long time. He'd seen faces come and go. A few stood out, of course. The comedians, the pricks, the whores that'd come and go; these weren't exactly unique people to a bartender. But each night, each week or so, he'd notice less people coming in. New people came in less and less, and the bar's customers ended up just being a bunch of nostalgia-filled veterans with nowhere better to go. Guys and gals from the good old days.

         The bartender wasn't too bothered by this at first; maybe people were just getting on with their lives. New people would come eventually. Maybe he'd try to put a new spin on the place, hire some nice waitresses for some cheap attention. That sort of thing would only go so far though, and the money he'd saved from his old gambling days was thinning faster than his hairline. He'd started charging less and less for his drinks; even his patrons weren't too rich in the pockets.
Maybe it was time to give up the bartending business, he thought. This place was falling apart. Rats living in the cellar for so long that he'd named and memorized each one. The neon sign outside was half shattered, the other half constantly flickering. He didn't care to fix it.
         And yet, whenever he thought of shutting the place down, a deep sadness washed over him. This place had brought smiles to so many young peoples' faces; he'd seen couples get together, people propose to each other. He'd seen old army vets share war stories, finding comfort amongst other battle-wearied brothers. He'd seen people who'd never wanted to drink in their lives' faces light right up as they slipped into the easy relaxation of alcohol. He'd seen men slam their fist on the counter in self-realization, as they finally mustered up the courage to talk to the pretty girl 'cross the room.
         But he didn't see those things nowadays, not anymore. Just drunks reliving the few good memories they'd received from this place. So maybe it really was time to shut this place down, go home. It wasn't like this place had brought him any damn happiness anyways!
         He sighed, checking his watch. It was getting late, time to close up shop. Looking around the bar he saw nobody, nobody except for a snoozing, cloak-wearing man with a hat over his face. He walked over, snapping his fingers angrily
"Time to go home, drunk. This ain't a hotel."
"it isn't?" the man asked jokingly, his voice being surprisingly sober.
"No, it ain't." the bartender said impatiently. "So get out."
"Ah, my mistake. I apologize," the man said as he got up to leave, walking towards the doorway for a few moments before stopping at the doorway, calling out to the bartender.
"Make a wish," the strange man said as he tossed a shiny golden coin to the bartender. The bartender caught it easily, looking at it in awe for a moment before looking back at the doorway where the cloaked man had been.
But he was nowhere to be seen.
The bartender sighed, heading over to behind the bar to shut down the lights for what he believed to be the last time.

"I wish that this place hadn't fallen apart."