tomorrow, I promise
The rain hadn't stopped for three hours now. Through the foggy windows, I watched people rushing by with their black umbrellas, trying to escape the evening downpour. I was wiping glasses, glancing at the clock – it was getting close to Johnny's usual arrival time. For six months now, he's been coming at the same time, sitting at the far corner of the bar counter, telling the same story – how tomorrow he'll change his life. This weather wouldn't stop him from having his favorite whiskey.
– Rough day? – I ask, pouring a double whiskey – just the way he likes it.
– I'm sick to death of this job, boss buried me in reports. Thinking of quitting next month, right at the start of the year.
– You've been talking about quitting for seven months now. What's going to change with the new date?
– Don't know, it's magical timing – New Year. That's when I'll definitely make up my mind.
– "Starting Monday," "next week," "New Year" – if you only knew how many customers repeat the same thing.
– Yeah, but this time I'll really find a new job, you'll see.
– Johnny, there's never a right time. Don't wait for a magical Monday – you can quit any day of the week.
– True, but I still haven't paid off my car loan. I'll find a new place first, then quit, that's for sure, – he quickly finishes his glass, leaving a ten-dollar tip. – Alright, gotta go, don't get bored here.
"I wonder how many more 'tomorrows' a person needs to finally decide on 'today'?" – I thought, saluting him with a glass as he left.