Tracy comes into the bar, sits down near the taps. Cute girl, petite, brunette, funky haircut. She’s funny, good personality.
I know she’s seeing this guy named Tom. It seems somewhat casual, nothing serious. At one time, she dated/spent intimate time with an old friend of mine. He’s a musician, has played the bar numerous times. His name is Butch.
Coincidentally, he walks in, sits down next to Tracy. Cool, cool. They’re on good terms. Always love to see that.
It’s a slow night, college kids back in school after Spring Break, so I have time to chat with Tracy and Butch. We don’t talk about anything in particular, we go from subject to subject. I like these two. Good people.
By the end of the night, both of them get their coats, prepare to leave. Innnnnnteresting. Leaving together at 1:30am. Anything can happen at that time of night.
We say our good-byes, I start cleaning up the bar.
The next day, I get a message from Tracy. “Did you find my hat last night?” I message back, no I didn’t. Maybe you left it over at Butch’s place? She messages back minutes later, “I see what you did there.”
Last night, Tracy comes into the bar, with Tom. Remember him? He’s the guy Tracy, I believe, is actually seeing. They sit down, I say to her, oh…did you find your hat?
She stutters, uh…um…yeah, um…I don’t want to talk about it. I found it.
Oops. Here we go.
Later on end of night, Tracy runs her tab. Before I set it down, I say, in all sincerity,
I’m glad you found your hat.
She gives me a withering stare, saying, with her eyes,
Shut the fuck up, Clint.