A Night Like Any Other

Lance was not supposed to be tending bar that night. It had been a quiet night, one like any other, he supposed. Just the usual customers, those faces one gets to know over the course of time. By last call there were only three  stragglers, two of whom were too drunk to stand up without assistance, and the third was passed out in the far corner booth. The jukebox had already finished playing its last song, though the patrons who chose it left before it came on, and Lance wiped down the bar, erasing the remnants of cheap bourbon, beer, and cigarette ash, in silence.