Damn your laugh.

3:40

Her silence follows a laugh I didn't expect to last that long.

She thinks I'm funny — and I like that she thinks that,

because I love being funny when she's the one laughing. I keep talking, pretending it's nothing, but every word I say is just a way of keeping her smile a little longer.

When we laugh, our brain releases dopamine, the same neurotransmitter linked to reward and desire. It creates that instant rush of pleasure and connection — and that is probably the reason I want to keep laughing with her.

It's a biochemical "yes, stay here."

Last week, I found a clown nose in the drawer behind the bar —

leftover from some corporate kids' party. Tonight, I put it on and went to serve her and her friends. Ridiculous, I know. But awkward is funny to me.

"You're insane," she said.

"And embarrassed," I replied, sliding her napkin.

She laughed again, softer this time, and shook her head. Her closest friend was looking really annoyed by my presence. I wish she knew how much I like that.

On my way back, the manager was looking at me with a 'you are about to lose your job' look, but I wasn't worried. She and her friends are the best thing that has happened to the space today, and he knows that. I went back, tried to look busy — grabbed a bar towel, wiped a glass that was already clean. I stayed busy. That's the rule. Keep moving.

Polish the shaker, check the bottles, and line up the already-straight napkins. It's easier to pretend you're not thinking about someone when your hands are full.

She was listening to her friend, nodding, eyes glazed the way they get when thoughts drift toward something better. I hoped that better was here. Someone called for another round—Friday lights, soft and slow. The DJ asked for a drink; I poured two.

He likes Negroni and the noise people make when they don't want the night to end.

The lights felt warmer, or maybe that was just the Negroni. Someone spilled something, someone cheered for nothing, and she was getting ready to leave — half-listening, half-smiling. I’ve seen thousands of laughs behind this bar — the careless, the forced, the loud ones. But hers… damn, her laugh. It stayed in the room long after she didn’t. I kept pretending to work — such a beautiful night.