It's five o'clock and you're behind the bar. The regulars are on their way. They come in through the door at the back, sit at the counter and tell you what they want: a drink by name, "something with ginger in it", or just "the usual". Tap two bottles to mix it, tap them to hand it over, and the tip lands in the jar. The quicker you are, the bigger it is. But listen to what kind of day they've had. Someone who's driving would rather not have that pint; someone who can't feel their fingers wants something warming. Pour what they need instead of what they asked for, and they'll remember it. Eight regulars, each with a story told a part a night: Maggie learning to drive at sixty-eight, Priya leaving the law to bake bread, Dev delivering a baby on the number 42 bus. Serve them well and they come back tomorrow with the next part. Let them down and they stay home. Twenty-three drinks wait in the book, from a Shandy to a French 75; mix two bottles you've never put together to find one. Between nights, your tips buy new bottles for the shelf, and every new bottle brings in the regulars who drink it. An hour behind the bar is three minutes. A new crowd every night, and a daily special that tips double.
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