The man at his elbow had the long drawn face of someone who wakes up every morning disappointed that he did. Dzinski watched him in the mirror behind the bar. His head hung down, only raising when he steadily brought another shot glass to his lips.
Grey hair, cropped down short around the ears, but long on top. The leather skin that always looks like it needs a shave.
“You all right there, friend?”
“Right enough,” he said, signalling for another drink.
“Have a good night then.”
Dzinski left the bar, crossed the street and convinced himself to get home.