It was nearly midnight when you stepped inside. The bar was nearly empty, two older men by the jukebox, a couple sitting close near the door. The bartender was restocking bottles behind the counter, sleeves pushed up, moving with the kind of ease that says: I’ve done this a thousand times, and I’ll do it a thousand more.

You sat down a few stools away. He noticed, nodded once, then placed a clean glass in front of you.

“Late night?” he asked, his voice low, accented, but soft enough to not make it a demand.