He didn’t know what drew him to the stool that night. It was the same place he sat every night, but something was different. As he sat, the stranger next to his seat looked at him.

“You look like hell,” quipped the stranger. “So what sorrow are you drowning this evening?”

The bartender filled a mug, and slid it down to Henry, who drank it down quickly. After the beer had time to work its way to his brain, he felt like he could answer. “My wife might be leaving me, my son might not be mine, and I may need a few more of these tomorrow night depending on how the day goes.”

“All that on one pint?”

“No use for discretion now.”

“Oh, you’ll get through it. I pulled myself out of a similar situation years ago, and you remind me of myself at your age.”

“You think you know what I’m going through?”