Just Another Dark o’clock Night. It’s a 6.

“Why the hell does he act like such a jerk sometimes….figures he can play guitar...”

A blur of mood-ring color hair, bracelets and black leather, the Bartender, working the mahogany bar at the Six Sentence Café and Bistro, had sent three drinks up to the stage for the band; feeling nostalgic, she included a note to Roger – “be Eddie tonight” – friendship or not, he was a new hire and she could just as well fire him for having a mean streak, yet she knew she wouldn’t.

Hiring the new house band was a smart move if the size of the crowd was any indication – the Bistro was rockin’ and while the thirsty throngs may have intimidated your average bartender, Denise was not your average bartender; by all appearances she might have been serving up tea and soda pop at a Sunday afternoon luncheon; enjoying a brief lull, she said a silent prayer of thanks Mimi had persuaded Tom to work a double tonight since appetites fueled by alcohol and energized by music would eventually demand grilled meat and deep fried potatoes.

Denise glanced over the heads of a group of 30 somethings towards Jenne’s alcove, Ford’s gold leaf, hand painted 2-sided sign “Reserved for Proprietor” set properly in the center of the small table where Jenne would sit unobserved by most, a book never absent and at times accompanied by a small leather portfolio – yes, Ford had done right by our friend and fellow Proprietor of the Six Sentence Café and Bistro.

The question jarred her from a momentary reverie, “I’m looking for a guy,” – Denise looked at the attractive young woman leaning over the bar towards her, waves of blond hair falling forward with her and said aloud, “aren’t we all”; the name “the Sophomore” made the Bartender pay much closer attention even while smiling at how the young blond woman didn’t strike her as the Sophomore’s type.

At the end of what turned out to be a good night, both exhausting and exhilarating at the same time, she paid the band (Nick refused) and asked Tom before he left if he’d whip up some take out for the Cafe’s new house band to take home with them; the books reconciled for another day of business, the Bartender locked the door behind her, walked up the 3 steps to the street; instead of trying to hail a cab, knowing she was headed for an adrenaline crash, turned to the left and walked the seven blocks to a brick walk-up…she pressed the intercom buzzer “Nick, you there?”