Eight-thirty—
     Oscar’s is barely awake,
     neon signs blinking off sleep,
     chairs yawning loudly
     as Paige slides behind the bar,

     hair wild as a Woodstock encore,
     voice softer than morning jazz.

I settle in,
  suitcase safely stowed by my feet,
  boarding pass printed, tucked away—
                 only six hours early.

“Just one,” I say.

Paige nods wisely,
      eyes the suitcases,
      pouring my usual Bloody,

      knowing “just one” won’t be just one.

“Mari?” She asks, not really asking,
             reaching for the vodka,
                      the spicy mix,
                         the olives.

The nurse at the end of the bar—
    fresh off a shift,
    scrubs wrinkled like yesterday’s news,
    eyes fighting sleep and winning.
    "Night shift’s a beast," she mutters.
    Toasts me with her Bloody Mary…

    Extra spicy. Two Olives. Hold the celery.

Next to her,
     the suit-and-tie regular,
     laptop out, coffee untouched— (beer: touched)
     told his wife it was golf today…

     Hates golf, loves tennis.
     Glued to Roland-Garros like he built it.

Then, there’s Lofty—
      local funeral director,
      impeccably dressed in midnight black,
      polishing off bourbon neat at 8:45am.

      "Dealin’ with the livin’s harder than the dead," he sighs.
      Paige pours another without asking.

We’re a quiet crew,
      sipping through secrets,
      calming the itch beneath the quiet,

      finding solace in shared solitude.

“One more,” I promise,
     as the clock inches forward,
     Paige’s smile patient,
     eyes knowing.

Three drinks later—
      suitcase seems lighter,
      the boarding pass a little fuzzier,
      time moving suspiciously fast.

Plane’s wheels-up this afternoon,
        but my head’s already in Atlanta,
        thoughts blurred by Oscar’s buzz
        and Mari’s smile,

        waiting at the end of this runway,
        the only destination I really need.

Paige waves goodbye—
      “Safe flight, Tj,” she grins.
      “Say hi to Mari.”

She knows the drill.

One more drink ’til Mari—
         always one more,
         always worth it.