The Burwin Tap was like a second home to Al. He'd begun spending most of his free time there (which was growing steadily limited, actually, due to construction jobs picking up in the blossoming summer weather) for more than one reason. First, he in general liked the place. It was within drunken walking distance to his apartment and had good beers on tap. It was one of those neighborhood pubs that filled with colorful locals in the day and drew in trendier, younger crowds on weekend nights. Al preferred the local mix of patrons to the impersonal night crowds, who tended to just look for hookups and wander off home with them, and in fact he was making an effort to be viewed as a regular member of the Burwin's daytime clientele. He wanted to be known by name and waved over to any of a number of barstools or tables, a welcome or even much anticipated conversationalist. There was a comfort in being a regular like that.

The second reason Al had been inclined to take on the Burwin Tap as his own was that he particularly enjoyed talking with Molly, the full-time day and part-time night bartender. She was there pretty much all the time, and Al had found in her a kindred spirit when it came to literature. On one random occasion, he'd stopped in for a beer for lunch and sat alone at the bar. It had been relatively quiet that afternoon, and he'd spotted next to the register a copy of Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment. This being one of his all-time favorites, he'd immediately expressed his pleasure at seeing someone else reading the massive novel, and Molly had likewise grown excited to be able to talk to someone else about the tortured soul of Rodyon Romanovich, whose megalomania and very human dealings with conscience were topics of intrigue to both. As a result, whenever Molly worked, Al found it well worth his time to delve into some literary banter with her, regardless of who else was there. She had gotten her master's degree in literature and, though she now did little more with her knowledge than read, she was incredibly adept in analyzing all sorts of pieces Al had read or wanted to read, and he learned a lot from her.

The last but most influential cause for his interest in this particular bar was because Daniel, Dawn's newest obsession, worked there, too, and was present at least half of the times Al showed up. Where Daniel went, Dawn went, and so Al had a good chance of seeing the woman, who seemed to have entirely forgotten about him. Hanging out at the Burwin Tap was pretty much the only way he now had of interacting with her; she had stopped returning his calls some days ago. He hoped that his frequenting the bar was surreptitious enough not to give Dawn reason to grow annoyed with him, and so far, it seemed to be working out all right; Dawn seldom took notice of him at all if Daniel was around.

Overall, Al had strange feelings about the guy. He couldn't figure the man out. When he'd first seen Daniel, the night Dawn had dragged him here to show him this man, Al had gotten the feeling that the guy was totally oblivious to most other people. He'd felt the exact same way when he'd run into him in a diner shortly after their original meeting—the man was so preoccupied that he really had no feeling for other people. In fact, Al had had to pay for Daniel's breakfast on that occasion, even though he hadn't known him well, because Daniel had distractedly wandered out of the place without realizing he hadn't even eaten much of his meal, let alone paid for it. Those two interactions alone had led Al to believe that the man wasn't all there in the mental department. Something was just off with him. And since he'd seen him several more times, now that he was frequenting the Burwin Tap, Al hadn't gained much more of a positive impression of the guy. There was definitely something a little different about him, now, compared to the first few times Al had seen him. But what was different wasn't better than what he'd been before. While Daniel was still aloof and inattentive, there was an added purposeful, sullen indifference accompanying his distractedness. He not only seemed disinterested in anything outside himself but now was cognizant of the fact that he behaved such a way and did nothing to correct himself. At least, this was the impression Al had of him. Despite his good nature and joviality, Al found himself on occasion envisioning punching Daniel. He contritely wished the man would give him a reason to pick a fight.

Al was an intelligent man; therefore, he knew that his enmity toward Daniel was largely due to jealousy. Dawn had fawned over all sorts of men (none of them Al), but this one was different, somehow. Daniel was not like the rest. All the others had been, in various ways, impossible to have. Some had been married, some had been celebrities, some had been in jail or random people on commercials or faces she'd seen once on the L train. Al had never had to worry about those. In fact, Dawn's imaginative caprices had amused him and even endeared her to him. She was like a child in a toy store, wanting everything and consequently being unable to focus her true attentions on anything at all. There had been entertainment and theatrics in all of it; none of it had been threatening or harmful. But this Daniel was weird. There was something odd about him. Dawn was clearly obsessed with the guy, but it wasn't as if he was returning her affections—not that Al could tell. The man seemed so engrossed with something not part of anyone else—something secretive and strange. Al was growing steadily more wary that the guy might have some skeleton in his closet, so to speak, a dark past. Any stranger could look at Daniel and see that his brain or heart was crowded with issues; his stress was written all over his constantly-perplexed face. Daniel didn't notice Dawn, though she didn't seem to notice he didn't notice her, and Al was worried that some dark part of the bizarre man's self would worm its way into his friend, eventually irreparably harming her. Al had some fearful suspicion that something bad was going to happen; this one wasn't going to be an easily forfeited game for Dawn. She wouldn't be able to cry a few tears, eat some ice cream, and move on . . . not with this one.

So for this reason and those merely related to his personal enjoyment, Al Kuenzel spent many an afternoon and evening at the Burwin Tap and was, to his delight, beginning to gain "regular" status, there. If he happened to arrive on a weekday afternoon, a few hours after lunch but prior to happy hour, he'd usually run into the same group of middle-aged and older men that frequented the establishment. Most of them had jobs like his, which allowed them odd hours and breaks. Al never felt so gratified as he did when he walked through the doors of that bar and heard "Hey, Al!" or some variant of the basic greeting. It was like being reminded that he was alive and likable.

Today, he was sitting at the bar with an older man—a guy Al conjectured was in his sixties—and two of his own co-workers he'd brought along for a drink. They were conversing about the rise of construction jobs and various up-and-coming neighborhoods installing high-end condominiums and complexes. In all, business was good for Al and the company he worked for. The economy was doing well, and jobs were available, which meant people were moving to the city and in need of housing. He loved his work; it allowed him exercise, fresh air, and good times with his fellow workers. Summer was the best time of all to be outdoors in Chicago, and the prospective bright, sun-filled days of work to come made Al a bit heady. He was in good spirits. Molly was bartending, not Daniel, and Al made some light conversation with her, throwing out a question or two about what she'd read lately, cheerfully telling her he was wrapping himself up in Oscar Wilde and Steinbeck at present while simultaneously re-reading his high-school copy of The Great Gatsby. He couldn't get into anything too deep, though; he didn't want to sound pedantic in front of the guys he was with. His senses told him that neither his co-workers nor Jim (the older regular) would really be into discussing literature, so he talked with them about the other numerous things he enjoyed, like good beer, food, local sports, and politics. Their parley was warm and, while at some times heated (particularly when it came to the sports), agreeable. The combination of congenial conversation and libation gave Al the sensation of sitting next to a warm fireplace on a snowy day.

Toward happy hour time, the Burwin Tap began to fill up a little more. Al sort of acknowledged the fact that Daniel would likely be coming in to work within half an hour; he tried his best not to really think about the guy and instead did a good job of directing his attention to the conversation at hand.

As there were in all pubs and restaurants, a couple of televisions were hanging from the ceiling over the bar area. One was running a baseball game; the other was playing local news. Neither was turned up loud enough for hearing, and Al wasn't paying attention to them anyhow, but at one moment, looking up to catch Molly's attention, he saw an ugly scene grace the news channel: a huge car stuck halfway through a storefront window in Bucktown. It was an area Al knew pretty well; there were many comfortable bars in that neighborhood, and he didn't live far from the street mentioned.

"Hey, turn that up, would you?" he asked Molly, feeling a sad concern, motioning toward the TV.

Molly conceded and raised the volume just enough so that Al and his companions could hear it.

". . . hitting a local man who happened to be walking by as well as a patron inside the shop," the newscaster was saying. "The storeowner himself was fine, noting that he was able to move out of the way in time to avoid more than a few scrapes from the shattered glass. One of the victims of the accident was moved to The University of Chicago Medical Center and is said to be in critical condition; the other allegedly was dead by the time emergency medical crews arrived at the scene. The driver of the vehicle is purportedly all right; alcohol and drug use are not being considered factors in the accident. It appears this tragedy was an effect of the vehicle's accelerated speed through the neighborhood."

The story came to an end with the reporter directing the attention back to the local newsroom. Al's companions had stopped talking and watched the broadcast, their attention caught by the volume increase.

"That's that way of it," Jim sighed. "Driver's always all right."

Al couldn't help but for some reason feel that Jim's comment was crass or out of place, though he'd spoken the same words pretty much every time he'd heard about a drunk driving accident in which the driver walked off without a scratch after killing some innocent person. Still, something struck him as familiar and, therefore, personal in this story.

Before he could think much more about it, his concentration pivoted to the door, through which Dawn was entering like a whirlwind. (She couldn't go anywhere without evoking a burst of wind.) Al turned slowly back to the bar, not wanting to look like he cared that she'd just come in. He knew that man was close behind her—the two came in a pair, like salt and pepper shakers—and he didn't want to look at him. Dawn was chattering about something, which was usual for her. Al could hear happiness in her voice and was sad that he had nothing to do with it. What had happened to her calling him out on some odd adventure or looking to him for sympathy? She'd begun totally ignoring him. He didn't think it was purposeful; he kind of figured it was accidental, that she was so wrapped up in her present fixation that he honestly didn't cross her mind. Perhaps Al was to her what she was to Daniel—the object of Dawn's infatuation didn't seem to know she existed, and this understanding made Al's heart hurt even more. He didn't want to think of his friend suffering.

He tried to re-enter the conversation with his friends, but he just didn't feel well. The accident he'd seen on the news coupled with the knowledge that practically right next to him was someone he was painfully missing yet couldn't reach out to upset his increasingly beer-fuddled mind. How could such walls be put up between people? Why did they exist? He was just a person, and she was just a person, and he cared so much for her. Why couldn't she appreciate that? What wall held her back from him? He was a nice guy, he was smart, he had a decent job, and he wasn't bad looking—why did she always want such strange people? What was wrong with him?

He was beginning to feel kind of sick but put on a smile when Tony, one of his work friends, nudged him and asked if he was okay. "Yeah, of course I'm okay," Al cheerfully remarked, not willing to spoil his friends' time with his own problems. "I just need to use the john."

"You want me to get you another one?" asked Jim as he got up. "Molly's on her way over as I speak."

"Yeah, get me a Guiness, would ya? Thanks, man. I'll be right back."

Al stared straight ahead as he made a beeline for the toilet, avoiding looking toward the table where Dawn had sat down. He was thankful for friends. He'd never lack the guys, at least. No matter where he worked, drank, or ate, there would always be guys who liked to work, drink, and eat, too. He'd never want for friends. Maybe befriending a woman hadn't been the best thing to do. Stick with the guys. Women were too much trouble, too hard to figure out and ready to drop any person when a good-looking guy entered the picture. There was a camaraderie and comfort in sharing drinks and conversation with guys. When a woman was around, things felt immediately more layered, more complicated. Life didn't have to be that way.

Passing the dais on which local bands usually played later in the evenings and entering the stunted hallway where the doors leading to the kitchen and the bathroom were, Al bumped directly into a tall guy stepping hastily out of the kitchen. To his annoyance, he looked up to find it to be Daniel.

"Sorry man," Al automatically owned, though the run-in had been just as much his fault as well as the other's.

Daniel didn't say anything, just swept on by as if Al had been no more than an inanimate object to skirt around. As if he hadn't even seen the guy.

Al unknowingly scowled. What was that guy's problem?

"Danny, you here for the night?"

Al heard Molly greet her fellow bartender. He stepped back against the wall just far enough that a jacket hanging from a peg in the wall hid him—just enough so that he didn't look as if he was trying to hear their conversation.

"Yes," was what the guy replied. His voice expressed some frustration, even in that one-word response.

"I'm glad," Molly went on. "We've got Jack's band coming in tonight, should be a bit of a crowd, and Morgan's not coming—said he was sick. So it'll be me and you. Maybe mostly you, since I'm working ten hours, today. I would love to go home early tonight; it's my sister's birthday and we wanted to hang."

"All right. You can leave when you want. I need the money."

"I gotta at least wait till Brian goes home. I don't want him to see just you here. Better if he finds out later. I see you brought your friend with you, again."

Al held his breath.

Daniel's response was odd. "Friend? I don't know what you mean."

There was a pause. Then Molly said, in a lowered voice, "That chick over there at the table, with all that brown hair. You bring her all the time."

"I—I don't bring her. She just . . . follows me."

"Whatever you say. I gotta get those guys' beers."

The conversation was over. Al felt that his face was tightened and slowly, purposefully relaxed the muscles in it, wondering how they'd gotten that way. There had been no rudeness in Daniel's reply—not that Al could tell. The man genuinely sounded as if he didn't know what Dawn was doing there. Al was certain she'd end up hurt, now. He didn't know how long it would take or what would happen, but Dawn wouldn't come out the better for it, he was sure of that. This guy was just plain weird; he had some personal problem that he was clearly trying to resolve, and Dawn didn't need to be a part of it.

Going to the bathroom quickly for the sake of not looking like a flake, Al decided on the way back to make a pit-stop at his friend's table. He knew she'd been rude not to say hello to him the numerous times he'd seen her here, but he didn't care. He didn't feel any differently toward her than he had before she'd forgotten him.

"How's it going?" he smilingly asked, sliding into her booth table.

Dawn startled initially, but on seeing Al, she dreamily answered him as if they'd never stopped talking. "Oh, so wonderfully! I'm in heaven, Al. Heaven!" She drummed her fingers on the table nervously.

"What, heaven is sitting here at a table by yourself all the time, watching some guy serve drinks to people?"

"Yes," she insisted, though her fawning expression flickered a bit like a candle flame, disclosing some unsettlement.

Al's smile vanished. He looked concerned as he leaned in closer to her child-like heart-shaped face, her large brown eyes that were so full of light. He wanted to just cup her head in his hands and kiss her. "Come on. What do you see in that guy? Does he ever talk to you while you're here? Does he even look at you until you leave with him?"

"What are you talking about? What do you know about anything?"

"I know that you follow him around—"

"Stop it! I don't follow him—you make it sound like I'm a puppy or something. I've never felt this way about anyone in the world, before. You don't understand, Al!" She became passionate, again, her face shining. "I realize that everyone I ever thought I loved before Daniel was just an illusion! It was all made up and childish! You should know; you laughed at me through most of my fantasies. Don't say you didn't. Do you think I'm stupid? You thought everything I did was for the drama. Well, I'm not about that anymore. I'm in love, and you wouldn't understand. Whoever I thought I cared about in the past—Troy Abraham the news reporter, or that gym instructor I saw riding his bike past my old apartment, or that stupid married Steven Hobbs that I worked with at my last job, or even the doctor on TV who came here for a filming . . . what was his name? David something. I can't even remember, anymore. That's how unimportant all of them were. And all the others, too. They were all little girl fantasies—you were right about thinking I was being ridiculous. But this one is different. He's the most . . . the most amazing person I've ever known!"

She struggled somewhat to say "amazing," Al noted. This impassioned paroxysm was nothing new for Dawn. He took it as lightly as he'd taken all the others. However, he did realize that he'd utilized the wrong approach in starting this conversation. He should have known better. Dawn was like a volatile firecracker: light the wrong end, and she'd go off in your hand. Calming himself, he tried again, taking courage that she'd faltered in her description of Daniel as amazing. "You're a beautiful woman, Dawn, and I don't like to see this guy not treat you right."

"Don't be crazy."

"I'm serious. You sit here for hours while he works."

"This isn't the only time I see him, you know."

"So, what? Are you dating?"

She became a little peevish. "Is that any of your concern?" she snapped. Then, feeling obviously abashed, she looked down at her fingers, which were twisting the paper off the edge of a coaster. "I'm sorry. We . . . we aren't dating in . . . in the conventional sense."

Waiting enough time to let her calm down, Al asked quietly, "And what does that mean?"

Dawn looked a little unwilling to answer but at length did so. "Fine. No, Al. We're not dating. I . . . I know his work schedule, so I meet him here every time, all right?"

Relieved yet pained at her foolishness, Al sighed. "So this is the only time you see him?"

Again, she exhibited reluctance.

"Come on, Dawn. What's going on with you?"

"Sometimes he comes to my apartment," she answered, shrugging impulsively, likely hoping he wouldn't press for information.

Of course, he did, and this time he was unable to not jump to conclusions. "What the hell? What are you, his late night ass call? You're letting him use you like that, Dawn? Because I won't have it!" He made to get up but she grabbed his forearms with more strength than he would've guessed she had and furiously yanked him back into the booth.

"Shut up, would you? Do you want the entire place staring at me? No, all right? No! He's not my—you know. What you said. It's nothing like that at all. I told you, you wouldn't understand it."

Al breathed heavily, suddenly incensed at the thought of someone taking advantage of this vulnerable, impetuous but well-meaning woman. This was exactly the sort of danger and hurt he didn't want to see her involved with. That man didn't care anything for her at all, and yet he was using her because she was loving and trusting and ultimately weakened by her own naiveté.

"Stop acting crazy!" she insisted, gripping his arms tighter, bringing him back to the real world with her squeezing. "I promise you it's not like that! He hasn't—we haven't—nothing like that has even come close to happening."

"Then what does he come to your apartment for, coffee and conversation?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Your sarcasm is not funny."

"I'm sorry," he acquiesced. "I just thought . . . It doesn't matter. If you would just explain things properly, I wouldn't get the wrong idea."

"Don't blame me for that! You're the one trying to act all chivalrous, as if I ever wanted that from you."

That hurt him. She didn't notice.

"I got a new roommate recently. You know that. I couldn't afford paying for those two extra bedrooms, so I rented them out. Someone wanted both, so it worked good for me. Well, my new roommate's . . . sort of . . . friends with Daniel. They usually go off into the spare room and I . . ." she became remotely fazed. "I don't see him that much, when he's there. They don't really talk to me"

Had his heart not been smarting from her previous words, Al might have noticed the tone in which she'd used the word "friends"; as it was, he didn't. "Oh. So he goes to see his friend, and you happen to be there. He doesn't come to see you at all, then?"

"Oh thank you. Thanks for making me feel like an ugly worthless person. Think whatever you want. I don't want to talk to you anymore. You're behaving horribly to me. Just go away."

Immensely placated (even though she was now talking to him like a petulant child), Al allowed a smile to crease his ruddy cheeks. He rubbed his chin, noting somewhere in his mind that he was happy to be sporting a trim, manly beard which, now that he thought of it, that effeminate Daniel character probably couldn't even grow. He sat back against the booth, crossing his arms behind his head, feeling suddenly loquacious. "Have I met your roommate? Is she a friend of your sister's? I knew you were looking for people, but you never told me you'd found one." If Daniel was frequently visiting Dawn's roommate, he clearly wasn't interested in Dawn.

In spite of her annoyance, which had manifested in her glare, her seated position of crossing her legs and her arms, and her tone of voice, Dawn replied, "She's a he. I live with a man, Al. Another man."

"It's a guy?" He had the sense that she was trying to rile him up further with those words, and normally they would've worked. Typically, he'd have been ruffled to hear that the woman he loved was living with some man. However, in this case, the fact that Dawn's roommate was a man only furthered his peace of mind. In Al's brain, everything clicked—Daniel's obvious disinterest in Dawn, his pretty looks, his constant preoccupation as if he had some issues he was dealing with. Clearly, the man was struggling with his sexuality. This pleased Al even more. This man was just as impossible for Dawn as all the others had been. Perhaps she hadn't realized her love interest was gay, yet, but she would, in time. Of this, Al was certain. Until she recognized him as such, she was safe. Oh, her feelings might be hurt in the end of it all, but at least there was no chance of her ending up with Daniel. Al had absolutely no reason to worry about her until she found someone new, and Dawn always found someone new.

"They paint, Al! They just sit in there and paint, all the time!"

He wasn't listening to her. As he got up from the table to return to his friends and the full beer awaiting him, noting the perplexed look muddling the woman's features, he hoped the same old hope—that eventually, she'd come around to finding him.