Kristina B

The 5 Stages

Life was too much for him. I understood that. In only a few short years, he’d lost his wife to cancer, his job to a millennial, his house to foreclosure, and worst – his dignity. Most evenings after work, I’d meet him at his favorite bar. He’d already have his Crown on the rocks and a Miller Lite by the time I arrived. I’d have a margarita usually, from the frozen machine. It wasn’t the kind of bar from which to expect a salt-rimmed beverage in a fancy glass. On Tuesdays, we’d have dollar tacos. Fridays, catfish. Most other days, fried chicken wings with French fries.