Even though it's early, the regulars have trickled into the bar. Chance watches from behind the counter, scrubbing glasses — one of his coworkers was supposed to do it yesterday, but they had to dip out early, hence the reason Chance is doing it — and whistling a quiet melody under his breath.
A balding man walks up and props his arm up on the counter... which Chance also just cleaned... but he smiles at the older man anyway.
"Thanks for watching Charlie for me the other day, Chance! I really appreciate it,"
"No problem, Mr. Brewer! It was my pleasure, I needed the workout." If you could call getting dragged by a-hundred-and-fifty pound Great Dane a 'workout.' Not to mention the dog chewed up the cushions of Chance's sofa, but that's ok! Anything to help a neighbor.
The man orders a beer and Chance pours it quick as lightning, sliding it over to him. He goes on about his daily routines as always. Chance listens. Of course, he's never asked about his day, but he doesn't mind!
Not that Chance believes he has any right to mind. It's his job to listen, offer advice, and not have that be reciprocated. It's the natural order of things, but it's okay. Chance doesn't want it to change, he likes to help in any way he can.
Chance goes back to cleaning the glasses. Then the grey and wispy-haired Mr. Lawson stumbles in and rants to Chance about how he knows that today is the day his wife will finally come back.
"I'm sure she will, Mr. Lawson. But hey, if she doesn't, at least you still have all your friends here."
Mr. Lawson repeats that he knows she'll come back today and goes to join Mr. Brewer at the table he's now sitting at. Chance shakes his head good-naturedly. Yep, he loves his job. Loves the people. Do they love him back? Eh... but it's okay. Everything's fine. He wouldn't change a thing.