The seat next to me was a rotation of familiar freaks.

I'll talk to anyone who starts talking to me. I may not always stay polite but I'll talk. The freaks like this because usually folks won't talk to them.

The barkeeps like this because when the freaks are talking to me, the freaks aren't talking to them.

The first freak said he was a regular of maybe once or twice a month, I didn't recognize him so I doubted him a bit but then I'm there only at specific times so I don't see everyone.

He was saying he doesn't tip because they don't talk to him. I thought maybe if he tipped they might talk to him. I turned away from him as the talking waned and when I glanced back he was wearing a bandana and then I recognized him as a house painter who used to always show up for the free buffet and he would just stare straight ahead as he slowly worked at his piled high plate of fee free food. He would try to pick up staff members as he was chowing down while stiffing them on tips on his buck fifty drafts.

Freak number two was a loser lawyer whose stated goal is to, one day, stay at the bar from opening to closing, he's working of a method of drinking to accomplish this, but this time around he's telling me he's learned all his social skills from watching a particular sitcom.

I don't doubt him.

"They must like you because they come out from behind the bar to talk to you" he mentioned.

"Yeah, they treat me well." I said as I asked "What do I owe" from the barkeep.

"Nothing. You're all set" was the answer I got. My stool neighbor's mouth just dropped. I couldn't help but smile.