It was late pretty late when I walked into Abel's, the locals bar in Heaven. I had only been up here for a week or so, I guess, and I was still getting accustomed to the place. Having discovered this hidden gem in downtown Heaven on only my second night in town, I decided to make it a regular spot to get a nice nightcap. Abel was a reliable bartender, which is hard to come by, surprisingly even up here. Heaven is not quite what you would expect. Anyway, I grabbed a seat at the bar, and the place was pretty much empty. There was a guy a few seats to my right trying to impress a younger woman with a story about a whale and another somber gentleman to my left who was buried in an old hardcover next to a tall pilsener. I ordered a Japanese cocktail from Abel and tried to distract myself in relaxing thought.
My time on Earth had not been particularly impressive, I decided. I mean, it didn't really matter now. I was in Heaven. This was it. Not quite all it's cracked up to be though. Sure there's beautiful women and bottomless bottles of booze and an impressive dearth of obligation, but there's something missing. It's kind of like being on vacation for too long. Even after a few days you get a little bored. So you just end up dwelling on your mistakes, and what's supposed to be a well-deserved retirement, full of bliss, turns quickly into a personal prison, a torturous labyrinth of blurring lines between dreams and reality, past, present, and future. I lit up a smoke and took in the small bar room. The bar itself only seated 10, then there were a handful of hightop tables in a line running parallel behind the barseats, and also a set of six four-tops off in front of the stage, which tonight featured a piano man. Why didn't I learn to play piano? Wood-paneled walls and low incandescent lighting gave the room a warm feeling. Small framed oil paintings served as the modest decor, most depicting tumultuous seascapes or medieval royal portraits. Why didn't I learn to paint? Everything in the place seemed to be a work of art of the highest class. The polished marble bartop, the crystal glassware, the handcarved mahogany chairs, and the beautifully laid hardwood floors. Even the lamps were placed to elicit a homogeneous lighting effect; a uniform mood of timelessness permeating the atmosphere of the room. I took a sip of my drink, felt inadequate, and looked at the man to my left.
He was a small man, looking even smaller with his back hunched over the bar and his legs crossed at the knees. He had taken off his jacket and was smoking a cigarette aggressively. His hair was slightly tossed and was overdue to be cut. When he turned to ash his cigarette, I caught a glimpse of his face and was taken aback at my recognition. That mustache. That part. The confidence. I was stunned. I would have liked to confirm the identity with Abel, but he was busy taking an order from the whale guy at the other end of bar, so I hesitantly got out of my chair and carried my drink a few seats down.