Daniel stared at the remains of his drink, the last remaining drops of Guinness in his glass. He could just down it and buy another, but what was the point of that? He’d only drink it, and then he’d be right back here, staring at a nearly empty pint glass, contemplating buying another. He briefly wondered if this apathetic thought was the only thing keeping him from becoming an alcoholic, and then mentally remanded himself for once again over-analyzing his thought process.

“When I was a little boy,” he said to no one in particular, “I never really thought about the color of peoples’ skin until my school started telling me that I shouldn’t. It wasn’t a rebellion thing… I mean, I was six or seven or something like that… I didn’t see skin color. I only saw people. I’d like to think that I still do.”

He looked at his glass again, and without realizing it he’d already downed the last of his drink and ordered another. It was going to be a long night.