Bad Day Turnaround

I met him last friday afternoon, in the pub

I had seen him there countless times

But we never shared a drink,

Never spoke a conversation

He’s a worn out, gruff-looking thug

Complete with a badly sunburned bald head and scraggly beard

He’s probably thirty pounds overweight

And he’s dressed like he slept last night on a bench

Old faded cutoffs, a tee-shirt complete with a stain

He was seated at the bar, as I came in

I was in particularly good spirits

I just picked up my tickets for the upcoming polo season

I took a seat next to him

I could feel his eyes giving me a ‘once-over’

He made a comment, almost to himself

About how I looked happy

I turned to him, with a smile

And met his face, with a frown

I feel bad for him

We all have these days

So, without a word

I ordered two shots of whiskey

And slid one in front of him

He didn’t speak a word,

And neither did I

But he give me a nod, and finally a toast

We through them back

And sat for a minute in complete silence

Then he got up

Gave me a pat on the shoulder

And thanked me

“That was all it took.  You made my day”

And with that he headed out the door

Sometimes it takes so little

And so often

We will never know

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

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