“Three U.S. citizens were among those killed, including Rabbi Kalman Levine, a Kansas City native. In national news, New York City is taking an absolute beating, and winter has yet to officially begin. More on that, after the break.”

Tom put a five on the bar. “Ridiculous, man. They went in there with meat cleavers!” He took his eyes off the screen as he spoke to Brian.       A bartender took the five and put two singles and a beer in its place. Bleu’s Tavern was swollen with bodies navigating smoke and noise. Old and young mingled and blue collar met liberal arts in a careless, drunken fusion.

“They’re savages, boyo. Something you wouldn’t know about,” a drunken growl let out at the end of the bar.

Brian craned his neck to see over the hunched backs perched on stools. “That’s right, Renaldo. Teach us the ways.” He turned back to Tom. “I don’t know how you’re neighbors with him, for how long now? I mean, he doesn’t scare your girl?”

“Two years, going on three now. He’s harmless, don’t worry about him.” Tom sipped his beer and collected one of the dollars from the bar. “There are bigger things to worry about, look at the news. People being butchered in temples — ”

“It was a synagogue.”

“Whatever. Temple, synagogue, they were killed while they prayed. These guys, they kill each other while they pray? I’m not even religious and that’s still too much for me.”

Brian gave him a puzzled look. “What do you care? That’s half a world away. These guys aren’t concerned with you, and they’re even less concerned with your feelings about their actions.”

Tom found it hard to disagree with that, but Brian went on. “There are pressing issues here, in this city,” he said, tapping his finger on the bar. “There’s injustice around every corner, in every dark alleyway, in every restaurant. In our restaurant.”

“Such as?” Tom bit.

“Such as; are you going to take my shift on Friday? I’ve got a date and I don’t feel like driving around and smelling like baked fusilli before going on it.”

Tom snorted but couldn’t help smiling. “Pressing issues, Brian. Yeah, I got you covered. Go make her a lucky lady.”

Brian finished his beer and smiled. “I always do.”

Tom gave him a mocking toast and turned back to the TV. A pudgy cop stared back at him above sinister headlines. It caught Brian’s attention too.

“Oh, this crap again. Can a cop even do his job anymore?” Brian said.

“Politics in a bar on a Sunday night? Come on, man,”  Tom thought to himself.

“I don’t know if it’s that simple, man.” The least he could do when drinking with someone was make conversation, no matter how bland it was. And beer always helps with that. He took a deep swallow off his pint to reaffirm his hypothesis.

“Tom, this kid robs a store, gets high off his ass, and then he — ”

“Hey, Melanie’s here.” Tom reflected on his girlfriend’s uncanny tendency to show up at the most opportune moments as she walked over. She sat on his knee and sipped his beer.

“Sweetie, this isn’t lite,” she teased him. “Didn’t you know I was coming?”

“I’m just a bastard, that’s all.” Tom pecked her on the lips and gave her a smile.

She leaned off of Tom with her arms wrapped lazily around his neck and saw Brian for the first time. “Oh, hey Brian!”

“What’s up, hon? We were just talking about this Ferguson cop. He was on the news.”

Tom had had enough of that. “Looks like they’ve moved off that one. New York’s in a blizzard and apparently…”

“Uptown residents were shocked yesterday to learn that a home invasion murder was discovered in their neighborhood. Which begs the question, is Uptown as safe as it used to be?”

“Damn, that’s a step above drunk college kids getting robbed,” Brian said.

“As a drunk college kid, I thank them for leaving us alone this time,” Tom said lightly. Melanie glared at that. “It was a joke,” Tom offered lazily.

“Stupid b–” Renaldo grumbled from down the bar.

“Hey!” Melanie shouted. Renaldo had few fans, and Melanie had never been one of them.

“Don’t worry, he was talking about me. If that makes you feel any better,” Tom assured her. Another glare assured him it did not. “Whatever, I wanna hear this.” Tom and Brian turned their attention towards the TV, and Melanie reluctantly followed.

A stocky man in a cheap suit with a cheaper haircut was walking up to a bouquet of microphones wearing a painfully detached grimace. “Deborah Bollinger resided at 2124 Pintree St. There were in fact signs of forced entry, indicating that this was not a case of spousal murder, but that’s all we’re saying at the moment. We ask that you please respect the family’s privacy during this time of distress.” He clenched his jaw, glancing from side to side before stepping away from the microphones.

“Woah, she was a regular, man. Tom?” Brian said. “You’re looking whiter than usual, bud.”

“I know she was,” replied Tom. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “I delivered to her last night.”