The Yellow Lantern

Yellow light reaches across the cracked pavement. Above it, the neon keeps buzzing. The Yellow Lantern gives him enough light to see the door.

Inside, he takes the empty stool beside whiskey poured for someone else. A man two seats down watches his hands. When the question comes, his answer is short enough to leave no room between them.

Chair legs scrape. He stays where he is. He knows this part: the steady look, the refusal to move, the belief that waiting for the first shove leaves him clear of what comes next.

Then a shoulder hits and whiskey spills. He recognizes the look on his own face. There is still a moment to step back, and he lets it pass. By the time he leaves, his lip is split and his knuckles are red.

Outside, the neon keeps buzzing.
He turns the engine over.
His hands are back on the wheel.