[When she arrives, she’ll find him behind the bar. It’s not very crowded; more experienced bartenders will show up when the crowds do. Jon’s black sleeves are rolled to nearly the elbow, exposing lean, tightly-muscled forearms.
This work is honest work, but it’s a dreary task. It makes him feel like a boy again. Not youthful, only immature and powerless.
He raises his hand in a little gesture of greeting: a wiggle of his fingers, nearly a wave, and then tilts his head to indicate a seat at the bar in front of him.]
It doesn’t taste like the wine I know. But it will serve.
no subject
This work is honest work, but it’s a dreary task. It makes him feel like a boy again. Not youthful, only immature and powerless.
He raises his hand in a little gesture of greeting: a wiggle of his fingers, nearly a wave, and then tilts his head to indicate a seat at the bar in front of him.]
It doesn’t taste like the wine I know. But it will serve.
[He has yet to pour any.]