The Prince

(DRAFT 2)

He comes in and sits at the stool at the end of the bar.

I’ve heard people say he’s some kind of prince, I’ve

Never believed it myself. He’ll start out with a beer

Or two before moving to scotch. He nurses each drink

Like it’s the last one on earth. I wouldn’t call him a

Vagrant or bum. Vagabond perhaps. There is an air

About him that keeps him from such categories, could

Be the coats he wears, broken in, not tattered. He’s never

One for conversation on nights I’ve worked. Never Heard

Him speak ill of anyone or decry fate or misfortune. Just

drinks quietly by himself until he can’t drink any more.

In spite of all this, he always tips nicely. You can’t fault

A man who tips well.

___________________________

DRAFT 1

He comes in and always sits at the stool at the end of the bar.

I’ve heard people say that he’s some kind of prince but I’ve

Never believed it myself. He’ll usually start out with a beer

Or two before moving on to scotch. He nurses each drink

Like it’s the last one on earth. I wouldn’t call him a vagrant

Or bum though, vagabond perhaps. There is an air about him

That keeps him from such categories in my mind, could be

The coats he wears, broken in but not tattered. He’s never

Been one for conversation on the nights I’ve worked. Never

Heard him speak ill of anyone or decry fate or misfortune. He

Just drinks quietly by himself until he can’t drink any more.

In spite of all this, he always tips nicely. You can’t fault a man

Who tips well.