Three men...

There are three men in the restaurant other than me, the man who works behind the counter, and the cook who is also probably the counterman's father.  The three are arguing at the counter with counterman while his cook-father looks on.

There is a stack of tens on the counter, and a long white receipt.  The three men seem to deny the list of items on the receipt, to which the counterman will point to one of the four unbussed tables and the three men will nod, seemingly having come to an agreement, and one of them will place another ten on the counter.

This repeats for some minutes.  Argue.  Point to dirty glasses on a table.  Nod.  Ten more euros.  The stack is now more like a small hill, the bills on the bottom representing the empty beers on table six, glasses still cool and condensating.  The middle bills are the wine bottles on table to, one of them tipped over leaving blood red stains on the paper tablecloth.  Higher still is the bottle of vodka on the balcony next to the overflowing ashtray.  The final bills, the ones that the counterman finally decides are enough, are the cocktails with little colored straws still sitting on the bar.

The three men leave and the counterman brings me a chilled glass and a bottle of Sagres, and smiles when he says "pelegrino, good guy".  Pelegrino means "pilgrim".

The three men leave, each waving to the counterman, then his father, then to me, saying "goodbye, American".  The counterman then begins to bus the tables and I turn to my phone to record this event while the memories are fresh.