His Upright Posture

The Barkeep leaves The Patron to his reading and returns to her trusty shaker. She pulls a bottle of bourbon, a bottle of Jager, some Montenegro, and two different bitters (orange and black walnut) off the shelf without a second thought.

She glances back, confirming what she saw: upright, head down but shoulders squared. A rare figure in a bar often full of swaggering egos and slumped shoulders. Calm, comfortable, nothing fancy. That quiet self-assurance says more than most.

The Barkeep returns with the drink, she sets it in front of him with a slight smile. “Black Manhattan. With my favourite amaro, split with jager. Didn’t want to bore you.” He takes a long sip, savouring the taste. “You’ve got an eye for detail.” He doesn’t look up, just stares down at the glass. “I respect a pro.”

She smirks, shrugging. “Used to study art. Lost the faith, found this.” She stops there, but something in the way he raises the glass makes her go on. “I don’t usually share this stuff with patrons, but my birthday is coming and I’d like to…”