She makes eye contact with the bartender while pointing to the empty shot glass. “Another Johnnie Black,” she says.
The bartender nods and fills the glass. “You doin’ okay?”
She says nothing and stares at what she can see of herself in the mirror behind the bottles.
“I’m just askin’,” says the bartender, returning the bottle to the shelf.
With Jackson Browne’s “Fountain of Sorrow” flowing softly through the ceiling speaker, she raises the glass to her lips, refusing to acknowledge the tear sliding down her cheek.