The Barman



He served her a drink from behind the soft wood. He comes from Yugoslavia. The look in his eyes says there’s something to prove but the warmth of his heart is accepting. ‘I can fall in love with so many people.’ She tells him not to worry with a reassuring smile and a squeeze of the hand. His comforted. ‘You’re doing the right thing. It’s going to be great.’ The candle lights the soft edges of faces as the fruit is chopped and ice crushed; bottles jerked open with a metal lever. The baby is due in February. Dark Dark Dark plays in the background followed by something epic by elbow. Peace emanates as they realise. Complicit smiles. ‘We’re too similar,’ she thinks. He adjusts his cap again, hot with the sweat of bar work. They both know they are right. And they agree on a special parting, reassured by the hum of the Berlin night. Perhaps there are no answers.