Bar Keeper Crossword Clue Novels & Stories

At least I’d know if she’s gotten home safely. I walk up the block with my hand in pocket, holding Claire’s rings as they brought me comfort and enter the bar. I sit at the first bench by the door. “What can I do you for?” Asks the old man with a southern accent behind the wooden bar. “A Scotch on the rocks. Make it a double.” I say as I stare at the bottle. “Sorrows drowned by scotch will be nothing but sorrows tomorrow.” The man said with a small smile as he placed my drink in front of me.

She shook her head again and ran out of the bathroom. *************** Her Becardi Rum. A muscular handsome guy snapped at the Bartender. Here it is bro. The bartender gave it to him and smiled. You new here? Haven't seen your face before. The bartender smiled again. No, I've been here before. Remember the grey hair guy who drunk danced, at the stage. The guy asked and the bartender laughed. Ohh.. so, you dyed your hair black. Sorry bro,I couldn't recognize you. You okay? The bartender grinned.

he asked, surprised. Barbara looked back and burst into laughter. A clothes hanger had accidentally collapsed against her. "Hahaha! This hanger scared the life out of me, Joe!" "Damn! Your voice scared me too!" he replied. "What is it? What did you want to show me?" Joe looked at Barbara with a knowing smirk. "Liquor? Wow! These look expensive! Why are there so many here?" Barbara asked in awe. In the cellar, Joe kept a vast collection of high-end alcoholic drinks. The dust on the bottles indicated they were rare vintages.

A tired-looking bartender was wiping down the counter, his face etched with exhaustion. "Whiskey, neat," I requested, taking a seat at the bar. The bartender silently poured me a drink, his attention focused on the television screen playing a silent movie. I took a sip, momentarily soothing the ache in my chest with the burning sensation of the alcohol. "You seem troubled," the bartender remarked, breaking the silence. "Just reflecting on my past," I whispered in response. The bartender nodded, his gaze still fixed on the television screen. "We all have our own ghosts," he murmured, barely audible.

After the fourth bottle of his favourite beer; Guinness Stout which he believes is a form of man-power he asked the barman "Do you believe in ghosts?" "Why are you downcast? Have you lost your job?" he asked looking at him with suspicion. "Nigerians, must we always reply to a question with another question. Do you believe in ghosts, yes or no?" "Yes I do…" the barman responded waiting to see where this was headed for he knew it's the alcohol speaking.

I asked by turning my finger on the edge of my empty glass. Zachary looked away and signaled his head to the bartender, whose face was just a bright flash against the reddish lighting of the bar refrigerator. "I wouldn't expect anything else from someone who has never had a reference about an alternative lifestyle," he replied, bending an arm against the counter to lean on.

she shot back , catchingthe plastic disk cleanly with one hand. A biker slid onto one of the tall iron stools near the service counter, and Tess wandered off toward the opposite end of the bar. This one looked younger than most. Early thirties, maybe. He had a short blond beard, friendly eyes, and a relaxed posture that felt a lot safer than some of the others. “Need something?” I asked, leaning forward on the counter to hear him over the pounding music. “Whiskey.” He nodded toward the amber shelves behind me. A faint, easy smile broke through his beard. “And maybe your name, since Reaper keeps calling you Mouthy.”

"But don't tell Ken I said so, he might try and talk you into another go." "That far gone huh?" asked Brick with a knowing smirk. "You have no idea," replied Barb as she took notice of his empty beer. "You looking for another one....the beer I mean?" Brick's smirk widened due to her catching herself in terms of her expression and nodded before handing her the empty brown glass bottle. "Something like that," he replied. Barb passed him another ice-cold beer and watched him pop the top. He drank it down slowly as she continued to watch him.

It was still early, but if I was going to be on the beach, I wasn't sure if I was going to be willing to get up to get one later. "Of course," the bartender said. I loved the accents everyone had here. He looked over and somehow read my mind. "Are you going to the beach?" I nodded. He must have seen me sit down only to stand up again. He reached under the bar while the blender whirled my drink and pulled out a small clicker device. "Here, use this on the beach. When you want a drink, just press the button and someone will bring you your last order."

he ordered, voice flat. I hesitated. “Why are you still standing?” he snapped. I moved. Opened the door—and before me was a bar. A freaking bar. More organized than any I’d ever seen. Drinks lined the walls like expensive shoes on a rack. Glasses of every kind sparkled. He said finest drink. How the hell was I supposed to know what that was? It’s not like I’d told him I was a former waitress. I grabbed the first thing I saw—Hennessy.