It was 2 in the afternoon and Caryman was alone. Nobody here knew him and he wasn’t interested in talking to anyone. Far from home, far from those he called his friends. The bar was deserted, a few older customers at the end chuckling at their own jokes. TVs were broadcasting some unwatched game. He had too many hours to burn and he was tired. Pick a bar. Walk in and grab a beer.

“What’ll it be, bud.” The bartender was a young bearded man, nice-looking dude and built like an assault tank with the voice of a fawn at dawn. Tattoos snaked up his arms. Caryman wondered what this guy’s life was like.

“Yeah how’s it goin’ man, ummmm.” He paused in mid-sentence, pretending to think about what he wanted, assuming it appeared genuine. He knew what he wanted. “Yeah how about can I get a Streiner.”

“Sure thing.”

Caryman looked at his watch and nodded his head to an imagined beat. He had five hours. Till what? Ummmm till the sun went down and he could pretend he had good reason to be out. He checked his phone. No messages. Had everyone forgotten him? What was his place? What was this place? He thought about Angela again and his eyes watered. No way out of this. No way forward.

“Here you go pal.” A glass of buzzing golden liquid slid in front of him. “Leave it open?”

“Nah I’ll pay.”

“That’ll be eight even.”

“Thanks.”

Okay cool a beer. He would drink this and be that guy that drinks beer. He had a purpose now. He was drinking. He checked his phone again. Nope nothing there.

“You doin’ ok there bud?” The bartender was looking at him.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Uh no I’m good.” Caryman was caught off guard. He didn’t know how to have a conversation. Not even with Angela. He would always sit there and listen and realize he didn’t know how to talk. Didn’t know how reply, engage, be funny, be interesting. He would just stare at her and lose focus and hope his laser sharp stare would be mistaken for intense listening. Man this is brutal, I need to get over this thought Caryman after yanking his mind from the addicting daydream.

Two women entered the bar and sat down a few seats away from him. He gave them a glance, a tightlipped grin and then ignored them. Haha I’m friendly if you want to talk to me he hoped his expression said. He would not engage, or acknowledge them again. He always wondered if this default behavior when around strangers kept him from experiencing a deeper connection with them. That’s probably why he was alone. Chronic loneliness was something he convinced himself he appreciated but deep down he would fix it if he knew how, but he would never admit that: too much self-reflection blinds the beholder.

Angela told him once he approached life as if it were a rubik’s cube: one and only solution, a right and wrong answer for every situation. Until he broke out of this mindset, she insisted, he would forever be wondering what he did wrong when things never went his way. That particular argument had ended when he slammed the doors off its hinges and stomped out of their apartment in a burst of helpless frustration. Angela was gone after that. Every waking moment he hated himself for fucking that up.