WNDR9545

Last Round Before Dawn

Your three-year-old son rang the oncology bell this morning and you drove straight to the nearest bar because you had nobody to call. The champagne is warm, the balloon is embarrassing, and you have been sitting in this corner booth for forty minutes trying to figure out why you are crying when you should be screaming with joy. Two men at the bar have been watching you since you walked in — and the bartender just sent over a second glass without being asked.