I poured Clancy a double and slid his demi-tasse down the counter and next to his paper. He smiled and uncrossed his burly old man arms. He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and adjusted his rumpled fishing hat.
"You look like shit warmed over, son," he said still smiling.
Clancy had been coming to the shop since before I got there. He was in his sixties, retired. He said he liked the atmosphere in Longhorns much better that the greasy spoon diner on his side of the river just across the Fox Bridge that connected Bigsby to the west side.
"I had kind of a rough one?"
"What's her name?"
"Blue Jay."
"What's with the kids in neighborhood and all your weird names?"
I opened my mouth to say something clever but Clancy interrupted.
"Don't say anything, I think I know."
And with that he snapped up his news paper and buried himself in the headlines.