In this case, unlike any other at all. His affect was particular. Adrift, spaced-cadet, attuned to some ethereal broadcast unheard by the rest of us all; I do not know. His eyes were a light enough shade of blue to look astonished, his bartender blacks recently retrieved from what I would guess to be a fairly well-strewn apartment floor, and his dark hair was wet down in a way that suggested a rapid departure en route to a late arrival at this his work shift. Here is our conversation in full:

“Do you want to drink something? There’s a list of things.”

“Yes, nothing too strong, though. What do you have in the way of a session beer?”

He then looked away over my right shoulder, walked away towards some taps. He made someone a Bloody Mary, or more specifically, made a Bloody Mary, which he left to sit behind the bar for a later delivery. Then he walked to another tap at the other side of the bar. He pulled a beer. Looked around for a while, to locate the other bartender, who was standing beside him, and then exchange some remarks about having made the Bloody Mary. Brought me the beer.

It was just what I wanted.

Later he walked past and mumbled something about Hofbrau but I wasn’t sure if that was directed to me, or was just a drip from his running list of drinks to prepare and, at some later moment, deliver to the appropriate parties.