"Empty Places" [1st Rough Draft]

I just wanted to make a note that the way I cut the lines short is NOT part of the story. I just find it much easier to read when the lines are close together than really long across the page. It's a quirk I have, but I hope you all have it too.

A short story, but a lot of time went into this. I hope you enjoy it and can give a completely honest review. This is my first really rough draft out of many, and I would love tips on how to improve it. Too rushed? Too short?

I usually like to ask questions here that reviewers can choose to answer or not, but right now I only have one: I tried to make it clear in the story that both men were lonely. The barkeep solves his loneliness by being around people, Lloyd be separating himself from them. Was this clear enough or should I add something to the story to make this more clear?

As soon as this story leaves the Review Request page, and after a few days have passed so I can edit, I will re-post the "2nd" draft - keeping this one as a separate static item for reference - open for review. So if you review this one, then the second draft will be easy gift points in a week or so.

Empty Places

IT was just past closing time, and the self-proclaimed "watering hole" of Providence
(a town too small to note further) had closed its doors to all but LLOYD ATWOOD, an
awkward parson who usually kept to himself in one of the darkened corner booths.
Except tonight; tonight, he sat right up front at the bar. Late in the evening, no less.
Strange, the barman thought, for an older man - for a married man. Could it be
his wife didn't mind?

Lloyd had his finger in his glass and was "sucking the spirits" off his thumb. He hadn't
said much of anything until he turned up from his wine and asked the barkeep why he let
him in. He shouldn't have bothered, the time it was. Should have turned him out and gone
up into bed.

Lloyd's thumb dipped back into his drink.

The barkeep said he didn't mind. "For fear of my soul".

"Ha ha ha. Insomnia!" He pulled his hand away from his mouth and tilted his glass
back, knocking it down empty on the bar.

"Nah, I sleep good enough."

Lloyd smirked and slid his glass forward. He didn't believe him, but he understood. The
barkeep cracked open a new bottle and, not catching a wave of the hand, filled it past
the brim to let some of the wine roll down over the sides. He let Lloyd watch him pour.
He wanted him to know that they were friendly.

"Anyhow..." said at last, as he put the bottle back on the wall, "...I don't like leaving
the place empty."

"Ha! That's why I come h...", his words became muffled out as his thumb went back
to his mouth. He had had a few drinks already, but hadn't yet gotten drunk. He didn't,
usually. Just enough to make his dark little booth in the corner seem a little darker,
make the night seem a little longer, make the bar a little emptier. All those voices
around him would start to fade with every glass he’d tilt back. That way, things weren't
so bad.

The barkeep, he just drunk to loosen his tongue.  He liked conversation and he liked
his customers. Liked listening. He was real good at that. Paying attention, that was
his thing. He could notice when someone was proud and wanted to brag, or when they
wanted time to sort things out, or when they needed to unload a few rocks off their
shoulders. Observational, you can say. Sometimes, that was all that got him through
the day. Made the nights go by a little quicker, too. When there was someone else,
anyway. Seemed then like the “closed” sign didn’t have to stay lit up for as long.

Lloyd, he was a regular. Watching him now, the barkeep noticed something different
about how he looked tonight. There was something to him – the way he sat, the way
he played with his glass. It was something sadder than usual, something morose.
His clothes seemed to droop off him and his hair, usually worn up, seemed to be
starting to fall. He shot down another drink.

"I got some harder liquor if you want something that'll last."

"No, no, just the wine."

"Might be a whiskey in the office." Knowing the answer, he reached for the same old bottle --

"No, no. The wine. It does fine." -- filled again beyond the brim.

"It wouldn't for most people."

The bottle went back on the wall.

"That's all right, I thought I'd take a walk, anyhow." He stared down into his glass and blew
ripples in it. "I'm not ready yet to go home, tonight."

"She'll be lonely -- "

"Not until I've finished this drink."

" -- your wife, I mean."

"Finished it, indeed!"

"Probably worried."

"And the night hasn't passed just yet!" He jumped up from his seat and danced around the room.
The jukebox hadn't worked for a few months, and Lloyd was spilling most of his drink pretending.
He started to hum some song and looked over to the barkeep like he should have known what it
was. The barkeep started to pretend to wash down the tables. 

" -- and, that walk!" Lloyd straightened himself up mock-seriously. "Come, my friend, join me down
a trip to the palazzo! It'll be..."

"I've still got to close up for the night..."

"It'll be...!" Lloyd stumbled towards the door and missed reaching for his coat.

"...there's the till to count..."

Lloyd waved his hands vigorously. "No, no."

" -- and it's late. But, if you wanted another drink, I could..." He turned for the wine.

"No." He pointed to the door. "I must be off. There are many miles in this city, you know."

"I do."

"And now...they are all dark." The door was opened. "Ah! What a night!"

The barkeep helped Lloyd with his coat and saw him out.

It was a cool night and a fog seemed to be starting to settle for the morning. The two men
parted silently, and the barkeep kept his eyes on Lloyd as he made his way down the darkened
street by nothing but the light of the moon. That, and a reddish hue off in the distant sky - the faint
promise of a morning yet to come. It was late. Or, early. The sun would soon be up, and customers
would start showing up in four or five hours.

He went back inside and started to clear the place up for closing; soaking up the beer from the counter,
wiping down the seats. There wasn't too much to do, but he enjoyed doing it. It was good work, and he
was always proud about how the bar looked when the first round of customers would stumble in. 

He took his time washing out the glass Lloyd left, though. He wiped it through and through a few
times, and then, after pulling out one of the harder liquors, sat down at the bar himself
for a few drinks. The door was still open, the lights still on; he wasn't ready to go home yet,
either. All he knew was that something didn't feel right about leaving the place empty.

The End