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Michael had been at MacCall's every single day since the Easter Rising. Couldn't be, of course, he wasn't near old enough. Maybe it'd only been a couple months. However long he'd been there, Michael was an odd one, not like all the rest of God's Wretched. The rest had their usual. They'd drain stouts or ciders or gin until they'd pass or piss. Michael didn't care what you gave him - that was strange in itself. He didn't talk either, and that was odder yet.
The first time he showed up, he sat down at the bar, and stared straight ahead, eyes already glassed. Everybody thought he was already pissed, but he smelled. At MacCall's, they teach the tenders to sniff for nothing. When you can still notice that they smell different from the rest of the room, that's when you can keep serving them. As soon as they reek like the air around them, they've had enough. Smelling his clean air, the tender slid a pint over, and another, and another. From then on, MacCall's and Michael had an arragement. They'd serve, he'd drink, repeat until close, he'd settle and tip, he'd disappear. The best kind of customer. Never said a word, and you could give him whatever you had extra of, or whatever was cheapest.
One unremarkable day in November, some kid made fun of Michael. Said he'd kill himself someday. And just like that, Michael started to explain. His words are lost to history, but somebody passed on the gist.
It wasn't so much that Michael wanted to kill himself. That'd be a sin, even beside all the mess, all the shame. But there was no harm in trying to make life go a little faster, was there? You didn't even need to confess for that, and avoiding confession was better. Life slowed down there. You had to remember things, and you had to do things after. Michael figured that's why the Lord made wine at the wedding - so the guests could forget about their own lives for a while. And who was he to fight what the Lord hath wrought?
His whole life, Michael said, had been filled with somedays. Someday his daddy would come back, someday his auntie would stop playing those games with him. Someday, business would pick up, and someday the florist could give him a raise. Someday he'd go back to school, and someday they'd get married. Someday they could be friends again, and someday he'd find another love. Someday the Lord would come again, and the sea would give up her dead.
With that, Michael was silent again. No one's heard him since. Maybe, like the kid said, he'd kill himself someday. But someday's as good as never.
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