Drinking with the Bartender

Three fingers of Jack
in two heavy glasses.
As the jukebox dies,
we tip our heads back
and swallow.
The knock of my glass
hitting the bar

echoes

the knock of yours.
A cold breeze
blowing through the door
says a customer
is departing.
We can hear
the traffic outside
beginning to pick up.

"Rush hour," I note.

Glancing at the clock,
you nod somberly
and pour two more.