Harold looked over at the table of young women. So young and so pretty.

He drank the scotch quickly. "Another," he informed the bartender.

His mind drifted, as it often did, lately.

"Your drink, Sir."

Harold snapped out of his daze. He tossed a twenty on the bar. "Keep the change."

Didn't matter anymore.

The last two years had been the worst of his life.

His wife left him, after just five years of marriage. He lost his job to downsizing. Depression debilitated him. He couldn't keep a job.

And then the cancer.

Terminal.

Harold drank his last drink, forever.