Quite often i'll round the bar and come face to confused face with a customer. they look as though they want to ask where their drinks are, but all they can get out is the first part of "you don't wear glasses." Then out of nowhere, rounding the other side of the bar, is an armful of drinks and a glassesless Brad named Roy.
Roy is a writer. An actual writer, not a character who plays one in my imaginary world of imaginary patrons who have imaginary, romantic professions that justify my fueling their alcoholism.
Roy is a father. At twenty five he had a wonderful woman whom with he would have a five year old daughter five years from then; at twenty five i found a wonderful red wagon with whom i've avoided life (The wonderful woman is still wonderful, however she is marrying another man in a few weeks).
Roy is the assistant manager at the Shel, five years older than i and is constantly mistaken for my brother, although no one guesses which of us is older.
[i made a resolution]
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