"Another one, Chuck?"

"Thanks, kid."

I placed mug of cold beer before the Vietnam veteran as he turned back to his friend.

The VFW was quiet tonight. It had been quiet since the incident on the highway two days ago. City hall claims it was a police exercise; I wasn't so sure. My regulars still came, seated in their usual spots, just like every Monday & Thursday night.

I started to stack clean beer mugs when the door opened and a new face walked in. He sat at the bar, a few seats down from Chuck and his friend. Dark, shaggy hair fell across his face, which was covered in stubble, barely visible under the baseball cap that was pulled low. I approached, leaning forward, my forearms against the bar.

"What can I get you?"

"Beer...please."

The bags under his eyes only made his piercing blue eyes shoot right through me. He was young, too young to look so broken. I filled up a mug then place it before him. He nodded curtly, muttering a 'thanks.' I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He held the mug with a gloved hand, and just stared at the bar, occasionally taking a sip of beer. Lots of men wandered in here and sat in silence, but he seemed different.

The VFW closed at midnight. Some of the men try to bribe me to keep it open just one more hour. I reminded them bribes didn't work and we opened at 11:00 AM. What they did in between that time and now was their business. The young man in the baseball cap was the last one to linger. He had paid an hour ago, but did not get up to leave.

"Are you ok to get home?"

"Um, I don't-"

"Come with me."

He looked at me, perplexed. I motioned him around the bar and out the back door. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets as I locked up, then headed down the road.

"Where are we going, exactly?"

"You're a veteran, right?"

"Um, I-."

I stopped in front of the group home. It was a one level building, with a manicured lawn and parking lot to the side. I ushered him inside to the lobby, where a portrait of my grandfather, Thomas Dugan, greeted us. To the right was our office, where John, the night manager, was reading a book. I leaned in the window.

"Hey John, is room 14 still available?"

He nodded, booking marking his page and standing to head into the closet. He pulled out two clean towels, a box of bar soap, toothbrush and toothpaste. He placed the key on top of the pile.

"Just put fresh sheets on the bed."

He eyed the young man before returning to his book, who was staring at the picture of Grandpa. I motioned for him to follow me down the hall to room 14. It's previous occupant, Larry, had just accepted a job as a security guard and moved in with his girlfriend.

"You're welcome here at long as you need," I said, opening the door.

He peered inside. There was a twin bed, dresser, desk, lamp and small closet. His window looked out into the courtyard.

"It's not much…"

"But…"

He just stood there, perplexed. I handed him the stack of toiletries.

"My name is Dani. The night manager giving you a dirty look is John. I'll be back the morning, breakfast is at 7. See you then."

I turned to leave, hoping he would just walk into the room and make himself at home. I stopped by the front desk before heading home; John was hanging half out the reception window, watching our interaction.

"Is your book not interesting enough?"

"You know I don't like it when you walk in here with strange men at all hours of the night."

I rolled my eyes, "He needed a place to stay. Isn't that the business we're in?"

"I suppose, but you are too trusting Dani. He looked like the freaking unabomber."

All I could do at this point of the night was roll my eyes. John meant well, and since Grandpa died, he had been a little more protective. Bringing in strange men from the streets wasn't the brightest idea, but he needed a bed.