Waiting for Joe

I wonder, staring into an empty glass, how many pints, how many hours have passed. Perhaps just one more.

The bartender has long since gotten used to my coming in. Gone are the days of his friendly greetings, his idle chit chat. He knows I'm not here for him. Not even here for his drinks. He knows I'm here to wait. To wait, again, for Joe.

Joe said she would meet me at this bar Thursday night at 10 pm. Thursday night. I'm sure that is what she said. That was, what, six months ago. Why I return here week after week I cannot say. You would have to know Joe.

Men will go to the ends of the earth, to the edge of sanity for the right woman. I would do it all, and more, for Joe. So I wait. Wait, staring into this empty pint glass which has become my world. Wait... at least on Thurday nights. Pray you never cross my path on another day.