So here's the thing about bartending: you hear everyone's story except your own, because you're always the one asking the questions. Six years behind this bar and I could write you a hundred strangers' turning points, verbatim, in order. Ask me about my own life and I'll pour you a drink and change the subject. Physician, heal thyself, or whatever.
Which is maybe why I'm doing this. Writing to someone who doesn't know me from the guy who makes their martini feels like a loophole. You don't have an idea of me yet. I kind of like that.
Fast facts, since I owe you at least that: I'm 31, I work nights, which means my sense of time is basically nocturnal and mildly deranged. I make a genuinely excellent old fashioned and a mediocre living. I got out of something a few months ago that I still don't have a clean way to describe. Not quite a breakup, because I'm not sure it was ever fully a relationship, which is its own kind of confusing to sit with at 3am after last call.
I'll tell you more if you ask. That's sort of my whole thing, actually. I'm an open book if someone actually opens it. Most people don't bother; they just want the drink.
So: ask me something. Anything. I'll actually answer, for once.
Nico