[ WP/MP ] Write a story reimagining a character from another piece of fiction as down-and-out/washed up/past their prime .

He sat in the corner with a glass of red wine. He was alone and he sat at a small round table, big enough to seat two more. The table rocked to one side when you placed a hand or elbow down. Those little things drive people crazy, he thought. But he thought is was just fine. 
 
 Smoke hung in the air like a ghost. Occasionally the door of the bar would open letting in a sliver of light and the ghosts would illuminate and dance across the ceiling. 
 
 “ Bad Moon Rising ” was playing through the speakers. He always liked that song. 
 
 He ran his hands over the table feeling the collage of carvings. Mostly carvings of dicks or names. He read the one facing him and smiled. God is Love. Love is Blind. Ray Charles is Blind. Ray Charles is God. 
 
 He also liked Ray Charles. 
 
 The waitress appeared. “ You want another? ” 
 
 “ No thanks, ” he said. “ I ’ ll take another glass of water though. ” 
 
 “ Sure, ” she said and disappeared around the corner. 
 
 The bar was named Roger ’ s. Roger died several years ago but it was still quite lively here on a Saturday night. He thought the bar was just fine. 
 
 The waitress came back and sat the water down on the table. It rocked and some of the water spilled. 
 
 She grunted and said, “ I ’ m sorry. Stupid tables! ” 
 
 “ It ’ s fine. ” 
 
 “ What happened to your hands? ” She asked. 
 
 He looked down, forgetting his hands were still on the table. 
 
 “ Oh, ” he said. “ Carpentry accident. ” 
 
 “ Looks like nails went right through them. ” 
 
 “ They sure did, ” he said and took a sip of his wine. 
 
 “ My Dad was a carpenter, ” she said. 
 
 “ Was? ” He asked. 
 
 “ Yeah, he died of cancer a few years back. ” 
 
 “ Oh I ’ m sorry. I ’ m sure he was a fine carpenter. ” 
 
 “ He was the best, ” she said and turned back towards the bar. 
 
 “ I ’ m sure he was, ” he said to himself and took another sip of wine and everything was just fine.
