The fool...

He sat alone at the bar, waiting for his friend to arrive with a warm embrace and a wide smile. A sign, a symbol, a physicalisation of the bonds of lasting friendship that link the two men. Drinks would flow, smoke would bellow and stories of adventures and people would rumble amongst the chorals of roaring laughter.

But the Fool sat alone.

The Fool waited... Fumbling with the phone, flicking feebly through his "Favourite" contacts... Always pausing on that name. The one who he knew would come, of course, and while the Fool questioned if he should call he knew that he shouldn't have to, when he was near he would come. He thought of all the times he had opened his doors to the Adventurer, welcoming him in with no questions and no expectations... Now that he had returned surely he would come, call, knock, email or text to reach out that hand for that embrace. He hadn't while he was away, others had spoken with him, but not the Fool. But he wasn't away now, now he was home and would at the very least show some semblance of gratitude if not friendship, for the months spent in each others company while the Adventurer relied on the Fools hospitality.

But the Fool sat alone.

The fool would remain alone. Just like the last time, the time before that and probably every time in memory. The Fool was only a fool for thinking that something somewhere had changed, but the Fool was never a friend, never a comrade or confidant. Never someone who the Adventurer would actually lean on should he have a better option. Because the Fool was never the better option, never a better option for company, friendship, conversation. Only ever the last option - and not knowing that made him the Fool.