The divorce was finalized today. Harry was no longer married to his wife, Doris, of 10 years. Their 10-year-old daughter, Alma, was in their split custody now. She was with her mother for the week, so Harry did what his lawyer suggested. Get a drink at the bar and flirt up a stranger. Flirting. Harry hasn’t put himself out there for 15 years, what did he know about flirting?

His calloused fingers trace the rim of a whiskey glass, eyeing up the selection of aged liquor and moose antler decorum behind the bar. It was the only open pub in Provincetown, the winter season was quiet in the beach town. Truckers and other lonely divorcees frequented the pub. They were all older, for most part.

So he sat there at the bar counter, nursing a glass of whiskey and watching out for a potential conversation buddy. He didn’t want to overreach and think he can get a hook-up; he didn’t know if he wanted to hook-up, so he wanted friendly chitchat just to distract himself.

That’s when he laid eyes on you. A younger woman, maybe 25 or older, walking into the bar on your own. Your presence went unnoticed by everybody but Harry. His eyes dart from his drink to your lips. God, he felt repulsive.

It took no less than 5 seconds to find his eyes on the prettiest sight in the room of men who’ve had better days. It was refreshing, almost exciting – if he was feeling like a sociable person. He usually was as a married man, but nowadays he wasn’t sure what he was or just how well he count pick up a woman at the bar.