Pride

He wanted to say something. I could feel it in the air – that tension tingling in the space between us. I put down my tray. He waited. I took off the three tall soda glasses, and fit them snugly into one hand. My other hand reached for the soda gun. My thumb fired off two “D’s” and one “P.” Besides the fizzle and pop of carbonation striking soda mix, it was quiet. He waited. I handed my patrons their respective refills. When I returned to the bar, I put him out of his misery. What Martin? I asked him.
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