Maudlin

“It ain’t like it was,” Jack said. He gulped his beer. “Time was, a man could make a living just on hisself. Sweat of the brow.” He stood unsteadily. “I got a lotta talent, me. Raw talent. It’s part of who I am. But it ain’t about who you are anymore. ‘S about who y’know. A man ain’t got contacts, he ain’t got shit.”

With that, Jack headed for the door. Took it clean off and staggered down the road, clutching that chunk of wall like a lover.

Behind the bar, Clem shook his head as the snow drifted in.