It was like the Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman scene from Casablanca.

We were standing on the tarmac saying our last goodbyes and musing over lost possibilities.

She was to fly away. Disappear over the far horizon to chase the sun and her dreams. I was to remain here and… and spend countless evenings listening to the sad stories of sadder people as they cried salty tears into their half-drunk pots of slowly warming beer.

Most of this bar’s clientele were not here to drink, well, it was not their sole purpose. Most wanted somewhere out of the rain to sit, somewhere where other people passed by, so they would not feel as lost or lonely while they pathetically reiterated their woes to me, the barman, the current focus of their attention.

I had a bar to tend. I could not help but think of those words, ‘Play it again…