Bartender

The day was steadily going downhill, and the only logical end to the evening seemed to be a bar. My friend and I, dressed in our best spirits and clothes, headed to the nearest establishment.

While my friend, tipsy and uninhibited, disappeared into the dancing crowd, finding instant sympathy in the face of some guy, I was pinned to the bar. Alone. In the company of successive cocktails.

The bartender, deftly wiping the glass, broke my alcoholic alienation.
"Maybe that's enough already?" His voice was calm, but he already had a new drink in his hand.
"It's not up to you to decide..." I, barely looking at him, downed the contents of my previous glass in one gulp. "More."
-As you say.

The next drink loosened my tongue. At first, it was a dismal lamentation of life's injustice, to which the bartender responded with silent nods. But the deeper I sank into intoxication, the more absurd and ridiculous my stories became.
"And one second I'm hitting him, and the next I'm already flying down the stairs myself..." I mumbled about some long-ago, ridiculous incidents with my friends. "You know, it seems like you're the only one who even listens to me..."

He took the lollipop out of his mouth, and a smile twitched at the corners of his lips.
—Always happy to listen.

Sometimes it's worth talking to someone. Keeping everything bottled up will only make things worse.