The waitress looks haggard and worn. I know just from looking at her that she’s dealing with a hangover. Drunks can recognize each other; I have seen the world through the look in her eyes. It’s like a psychic bond among lushes. I can tell reality is hurting her right now. Her service suffers (I have to hunt her down for the check after thirty missing minutes) but I try to be polite and nice and when I leave, I leave behind a generous tip (25%). I want to give her encouraging words. I wish I could slip her a nip to help get her through her shift. I have dealt with the same agony she’s dealing with countless times, my compassion is hard won. But she’s tough. She’ll make it through. Like we all do.