“The woodpile was full of eels.”

It was the first non-slurred and complete sentence she had heard from him in at least an hour. She placed her half-empty glass back on the bar and swiveled to look at him.

He was staring straight ahead, at what she couldn’t tell. Both hands, which had been animated up to this point, were now both firmly grasped around his now empty glass.

She had to know. “What was that?”

“The woodpile was full of eels.” He continued to stare across the bar, his eyes focusing somewhere she couldn’t see. “The water came in, covered everything, destroyed everything. When it left, all was gone except the woodpile. And the eels.”

“I think it’s time we got you home.” She signaled to the bartender to bring her the tab.

“Home. Don’t have one. But the eels do.”

She reached over and gently grabbed his hands.

“Yes you do, silly. Now let’s go.”

He didn’t say a word, just slowly swiveled his barstool and looked at her.

She tried not to notice the tear slowly falling down his cheek.