The bar was full with people easing themselves into their next moment. He sat in the seat nearest the wall and felt comfort knowing the wall supported him. He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. His fingers flared out slightly while he did this. He felt shame. His father would often rub his forehead the same way, telling the world how irritated he was. He closed his hand into a fist and set it on the bar. The rumbling of the men and women drinking and talking, seemingly without care, eased him. Looking at his closed fist he counted the scars on his knuckles. Remembering clearly where each came from. His beer was empty but he wouldn’t ask. He would sit and wait until the bartender asked if he’d like another. It was always this way. The rumbling went on and the wall wouldn’t leave him.
Thank you for reading and Cheers!
I invite you to learn about my self published book.
https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/my-book/
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mtaggartwriter 
I have drank beer
I have also drank anger
I have also sat with my back against the wall
I have also been driven by the wall
My hands tell I different story now
The one I want to listen
Great piece Matt
Enjoy your Holidays
Above all Peace to you and yours
As always Sheldon
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Four things:
A very Happy Birthday to you, Matt! I knew you had to be a Sag, not a Cap. Why did Crazy Santa end up on the editing room floor? He’s a priceless specimen of the red long johns look and the camera shot is amazing! 🙂
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Thanks! It was a good one. Ha…yea, I wrote that (Crazy Santa) in a tone I normally don’t write in and had seconds thoughts about it. I do like those long johns!
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