A<br />
                <br />
                 seat at the bar<br />
                <br />
            <br />
            Cassy adjusted the straps of her black apron, fingers nervously fiddling with a loose thread as she leaned against the bar counter. It was a slow night, the kind where the jukebox hummed out a lazy tune, and the soft clink of glasses was the only competition it had. Not that anyone was drinking from them. The woman in her early 30&rsquo;s kept alternating between glasses with her rag. Desperately trying