For The Love of the Fifth Finger

“I’ve been waiting for that fifth shot.”

“You’ve been waiting for my fifth shot?”

“I like you after that shot.”

Chris stared deep into that next ounce of Jack.

“Who am I after this shot?”

“The man who loves me.”

The words came from a hard pock marked face. There was a trail of red running from the man’s eyes which lead down his nose and disappeared into a thick graying moustache. He was staring intently at Chris with hope, but just that. Chris and the man stared at each other for a whole minute. The bartender stopped existing along with the rest of the bar. All that was were 4 overturned shot glass, 1 finger of whiskey and 2 men.

“Who are you after this shot?”

“I’m the man who loves you, same as before.”

“I guess, it’s a net gain for me then.”

“Yeah.”

The man could barely speak. The shot came up to Chris’s mouth and slowly it drained down into him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t feel any different.”

“Yeah.”

That night wasn’t coming back and there was no point in staying around. The man left and the bar returned, confused by the affair and the affair insinuated.

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