Day after thanksgiving...

...at the bar near me with the plywood sign out front!

Phyllis wasn't bartending, it was the other bartender with dark hair who I had met before.

There was this older middle-aged Mexican woman who was stumbling out with the help of friends when I was walking in, and the bartender was saying, "That is the last time I serve Rosita Southern Comfort, the last time!"

Then when she served me, she told me there was a table in back with leftover Thanksgiving food if I wanted any.

"Has it been there since yesterday?", I was like.

"Good question!", she said, and laughed. "No, I just took it out of the fridge and set it out for everyone; it's left over from yesterday, you should have stopped by"

I went up, and it was two big plastic containers of ready-made coleslaw and potato salad, and a big aluminum tray of fruit salad from the can, so I got a big bowl of fruit salad to go with my beer (I love those maraschino cherries they have in there, that are drained of their strong taste).

"So did you have a full meal yesterday?", I was like.

"Yeah," the bartender was like, "We had two seatings."

"No shit," I was like.

"That was a joke," she said.

Sometime after that, I noticed that the entire corner of the bar near me was a memorial, with signs saying "MARTIN WE'LL MISS YOU" and other things like that.

She noticed me looking, and was like, "Yeah, I'm not sure if you heard, but Martin passed away."

"To tell you the truth, I didn't know him," I was like.

"He was that older Irish guy who was a real estate agent and landlord that came in here always, we'll miss him," she was like. "Though, he probably shouldn't have been coming in here, the drinking killed him. So many nights it was him and me, and I'd tell him to go home, and he'd say that he was keeping me company till close, and I would say that that's nice, but I have to hop on the bus and you can get in your car, so just go home now so I can leave."

Later, when I left, I was said bye but said wrong the name.

"No," she was like, "My name is [I forgot again]."

Then, she was like, "Your name is [my name], right?", and when I told her yes, she was like, "That's my brother's name," and right when I was like, "Oh," she was like, "And don't assume I like my brother."

As I was leaving, she started telling someone again that it was the last time she was ever serving Rosita Southern Comfort.