A man enters a bar one late February evening.
“Bartender,” he bellows, “Patia mimi Vodka.”
“ Ciroc?” the bartender asks, noticing the man’s battered face.
“Damn right!” replies the man as he finds a stool at the bar and lights a cigarette.
“Everything alright out there tonight?” inquires the bartender.
“Fine,” the man responds. “Got myself into a bit of a manly disagreement last night is all.”
“How did that turn out?” asks the bartender, almost mocking the man’s brutalized state.
“I look a Hell lot better than the other guy,” the man says with a sinister face. “Just keep those shots comin’, will you?!”
“Keep your cool, buddy,” the bartender requests of the man. “Look, you’re among friends now.”
“Man, I’m sorry for snapping at you like that,” admits the man. “Nice of you to be so kind to a stranger.”
“Of course, said the bartender. “Politeness is sort of a requirement around here.”Quietly, the two men just sit there each carrying on with his business.
“Really nice place you’ve got here,”says the man, finally breaking the silence. “Sort of reminds me of a spot I used to take my girlfriend.”
“Thanks, we try to make it as accommodating as possible” the bartender replies. “Under new management now that my father’s passed, a case of mugging. ”
“Very sorry for your loss,” the man utters, trying to repay his new friend’s kindness from before. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Xavier, call me Xavier ” answers the bartender, extending his hand as a sign of courtesy. “Your’s?”
“Zacharia Maina Njihia is the name;” the man introduces himself, “I’m the man who killed your father.”