An old man walked into a dingy bar. It was empty save the bartender, a slender, youngish, middle-aged man who was polishing the grimy bartop.
“Hello, Greg,” said the younger man without looking up.
“Hello, Nick,” said the old man heartily. The younger man smiled without looking up. “Those were the days,” he sighed.
“I imagine business is still good. You don’t look like you are starving,” said Greg in a faintly stilted voice.
Business is always good. I just miss the creativity. You have one young gun bartering riches, and you have some sad middle-aged dud strangling his wife. It’s always the same and always different. What do you have to propose today?” asked the younger man.
“Nothing offered. Just here to settle my tab,” replied the old man.
“Care for a drink first?” asked Nick.
“Do I have a choice?” asked Greg.
The bartender pulled a beer in a silver can out from under the bartop.
“My apologies, it isn’t cold,” smiled Nick.
“I don’t expect there is anything you can do about that,” chuckled Greg. Nick smiled again.
“All this, all eternity. You know you aren’t my regular sort of customer. Most make the deal, then tarnish their souls. I don’t believe you’ve so much as told a white lie in three years.”
It was Greg’s turn to smile.
“You know why I did it. I told you when I made the deal. We were never getting out. My family was going to live and die on this mountain for all this, all eternity. I was never the brightest, so college was out. I couldn’t leave my sick mom even if I had the opportunity. At least now she passed after being able to hear my voice. Now she has a beautiful plot in the fancy cemetery next to the house she always said was too grand for our town. My kids went to college, my grandchildren are there now. I’d gladly sell my eternity again so that they can eat,” the old man took a sip of his beer.
“Let’s head to the back,” said Nick gently. “I have some people for you to meet.”
The old man took one last sip, stood up, and followed the barman to the kitchen.
Rebecca Baskett 
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