The Smallest Big Man

"I feel very small today," he said staring into his half empty beer.  Normally, it would be a half full beer, but this was not that good of a day.

The bartender, petite and sassy, which isn't always a good thing to be as a man, looked up at the sullen patron, "Really?  I'd have guessed you were, what, six foot five?"

The big man just sighed, "I don't mean...that is.  Yeah, but, it's not all about..."  Lost for words he let his eyes wander aimlessly before bringing a massive hand down to crack a walnut on the bar.

"Right.  Feeling small," the bartender reiterated.

A nervous looking fellow of average size began to inch away on his stool, and squeaked hopefully, "You know, hitting things...or people isn't going to make you feel any less small."

Failing miserably thanks to his dejected state, the big man tried to glare.  The result was sort of a questioning glance that spoke more of suffering than menace.  The three men floated in an uneasy wash of barroom noises, the clinking of glasses and murmured conversations.

Epiphany somehow distilled through the smoky haze, and the big man swilled his beer with renewed purpose and vigor.  His fellow customer gripped the bar and seemed to brace himself for the worse.  The bartender simply looked on expectantly, mixing a mojito without even really looking at it.

"It's time," said the big man, "to do something big."

The End

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