It's not the usual place he frequents. And he's dressed appropriately. Black donkey jacket. Thick oatmeal knitted beanie pulled down tight. Matching sweater. Black heavy-duty jeans. Boots. All clothes he doesn't think his brothers know he owns.

The haunt is a dive in every sense of the word. The door is sticky under his palm as he pushes it open, and for two beats of his heart the patrons still and the room falls silent. He doesn't falter though and swaggers up to what passes as the bar.

He may be slightly exaggerating the swagger, but the crowd begins talking again and the air is lighter than just a second ago. He is careful not to smile, even though he is pleased that they have accepted him.

He taps quietly on the wooden surface, not reacting to more stickiness, and orders something strong – barman's choice. It's clear and the man holds the bottle up to the light and he squints through it. It's somehow alluring and probably ever so, ever so strong. As the barman pours the liquid into a shot glass the joint falls silent again.

Everyone is watching him. He doesn't need to see them, he can feel them.

He knocks on the bar again and the shot is a double. He smirks to himself and raises the glass to the barman as a salute in the silence.

He knocks it back in one go. Everyone holds their breath, expecting him to choke or cough, but he does neither. He smacks his lips and taps twice for another. As he knocks this one back the crowd shifts into an excited chatter.

It's been a long time since someone has drunk that drink…

He turns his back on the barman with his third, scanning the crowd. There is an excited undercurrent in the air, and it's infectious. The men are stirring. Feet are tapping. There are perhaps 20 men present, all similarly dressed as he is.

Now he smiles.

He wants to buy everyone a drink, but he's not sure it's a good idea. But then he shrugs and decides what the hell.

He pulls out a bundle of notes and places them on the bar. Doesn't say a word but raises an eyebrow and inclines his head to the room. The barman understands and nods. Gets out shot glass after shot glass after shot glass. He lines them up on the bar and takes the rum.

And pours until there are no more empty glasses. The barman clears his throat and calls it.

'Come and get a shot, boys.'

There could have been a stampede to the bar, but the men are in a good mood. They take a shot, return to their seats and salute him.

His grin gets bigger.

He's not sure who starts it. One minute the bar is just excited chatter, the next a song is ringing out. Call and respond. It's an old, old song, one he learnt early on, and he hums along.

Hums. Hums. Hums. Maybe he'll sing one later, but for now he hums and stamps his foot and drinks his Sunset.

By the time the singing is done and the crowd has begun to disperse he is feeling mellow.

Not tipsy, no. It takes a lot more to get him as steaming drunk as some of the others stumbling out of the bar. Some of them are still muttering the dregs of another song, and the grin that hasn't left his face takes on a wistful air.

Sometimes he misses this.

Misses the drinking, the singing. The camaraderie.

He wouldn't give up his life now, not for anything, but it doesn't stop him missing what he left behind, what he lost. What was taken from him.

He sighs. He'd come here to cheer himself up, not resurrect old hurts. Then he laughs quietly to himself.

'You're getting introspective in your old age.'

He doesn't turn to face the source of the well-known voice. Doesn't question how his brother knows this without anything having been said. Doesn't even question how his brother even knew where he was.

He just grins and climbs into the open door and stares out the window as they drive away.

NOTE:

Sunset Very Strong Rum is 84.5% ABV