Graft Beer

“Excuse me, bar keep? There’s nothing but foam in my glass?”

“Not a problem, sir. Hang on one second.”

The bartender returned to the gentleman patron with a completely empty glass. He’d quickly rinsed it out in the sink. There was evidence of previous suds, but now, nothing but the barely visible bubble, crawling over the lip.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“I thought you didn’t want foam.”

“I didn’t. But this isn’t anything.”

“That’s how you see it.”

He paused, not sure where this conversation was leading. A well-dressed man in a dark blue suit sat a few stools down. The bartender handed him a perfectly poured tall glass of amber brew. 

“I’d like that.”

“You already up for another? A little early, no?”

“No. Look, I didn’t want to say anything, but I’m a city alderman.”

The bartender stopped and nodded, handing him a real beer this time. Though something was off. Namely, the bubbles. 

“It’s flat.”

The beverage was absent any carbonation.

“Have you contributed to the Bartenders’ Fund?”

“I wasn’t aware of any organization.”

“Well, it’s new and extremely influential.”

It was at this point that he decided to leave. The evening had been a disappointment, with him sucking down mostly air for a couple hours. 

“So what do I owe you?”

The bartender thinks or a second, doing some quick math in his head.”

“One thousand dollars. Plus tip, of course.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“What’s in it for me?”

"You'll get a little something in return." 

"Foam?"

"That's all up to you."