“Then there was those few days centuries ago where he stumbled into here, stumbling and not looking at anything in particular, talking strangely. Almost thought he was already drunk. He wasn’t. Couldn’t smell it on him. Gave him some drinks to settle his nerves and hoped he’d be good and go. No. He just took a booth and kept going, muttering to himself, shaking and huffing, looking at nothing. Wondered why he was shaking and huffing the way he was. Then I heard him. He was laughing. He scared off some visitors who wandered in. It was a slow night, but he deserted the place. He was trying to keep quiet but he kept laughing and couldn’t. I was a little curious so I went around, to tell him he was driving away business, tell him to go. He was crying. Laughing, still. Paid me no mind, staring down at nowhere but the bottle, looking miserable but sounding so overjoyed. Drank more. Some mix of crying and laughter, then crying and looking so relieved, back to laughing, all night to dawn, then he started to stop. He had his arms perched on the table like he was gonna sleep it off. He did slip down and dip his head, saw his eyes close. But he opened them and stared into the bottle, then looked around, like he didn’t know where he was, or he was embarrassed, starting to cease his gasping, clawed out of the booth, then just trudged back out. Didn’t even pay. It was fine, I didn’t want anything he had. I didn’t ask any other questions, but sometime later I did find out that Veran’te died that week, maybe earlier that day, even. Didn’t ask any questions about that, either.”
