“It feels like Friday,” said Travis Windale, sidled up to the bar and halfway through his second beer, “but it’s not.  It’s just Thursday.  Which is odd because on Wednesday it felt like Monday, so maybe today is Tuesday.”

“That reminds me of a dream I had last night,” said Maury Crondale, sitting next to Travis at the bar.  Maury was drinking scotch on the rocks, but slowly, because he only had five dollars left.  “I was in my house, except it wasn’t my house, it was your house, and there was a horse in the bathroom.  I really had to go and I kept knocking on the door but the horse wouldn’t let me in.  What do you think that means?”

“It means you have high blood sugar, and you could be at risk for type 2 diabetes,” said the bartender, as he poured a coke for the former alcoholic at the end of the bar.  Kevin.  “Either that or there’s a blood clot about to dislodge from one of your legs and make its way to your brain where it could cause you to hallucinate that you live in a teepee made out of broiled orange-zested tilapia.”

“I should have majored in theater,” said Travis.

“I should have majored in accounting,” said Maury.

“I should have learned a real instrument,” said the bartender, who was a member of a bell choir on the weekends.

Kevin belched.

“Well, this was fun,” said Travis, draining beer #2.  “See you all tomorrow” and he went outside and got on his Segue scooter and buzzed home.

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