The mug in my hooves is almost clean as I look around from behind the bar. The various ponies present either having a conversation with another or nursing their drink, some even taking part in some of the small games that are set-up. Throwing the rag I was using back over my shoulder my horn glows with a simple levitation spell, placing the clean mug with the rest.

Why was I not using my magic to clean it to begin with you ask? It's quite simple really: it does not need to be used all the time for menial tasks. It's thanks to that belief that I'm a bit larger than most unicorns and can tangle with most earth ponies without having to rely on magic.

I suppose you want to know the rest of my physical description to get a better understanding. My fur is a carmine color and I sport a chestnut-colored goatee. Underneath the white apron I'm wearing for work I've got a long sleeve white shirt on and a sleeve-less vest on. As for my cutie-mark it's a stein.

What is a stein? Picture your average mug like you see when the Apples have their annual “Cider Season” (I really need to talk with them about having an “alternative” kind of cider served here). Now picture it with a lid on a hinge; that is what a stein kind of looks like. They are usually made out of metal to begin with and can come in many different designs, but enough about that.

My name is Walker Red, and I am the bartender and owner of “The Dry Trough”.

“Okay folks last call,” I holler after taking a quick look at the wall clock. It read half-past nine in the evening; which means I would be closing-up at ten. Ponyville may be a small town, but I don't like keeping ponies up super late, let alone hearing about stories of hangovers. Usually the customers do not ask for another, save for Berry Punch. In fact she is just passed-out on a table in the far corner, so no refill for her (looks like I will have to take her home, again).

Eventually one by one the ponies present began leaving, me wishing them goodnight as they exited. After about twenty-five minutes I sighed and walked over to where Berry remained passed-out. I knew no amount of prodding or speaking into her ears would get her to wake-up. Gently I lifted her onto my back and carried her out the door, the usual taxi pony waiting just outside.

“Same time tomorrow, Wally?” he asked me after I had deposited both Berry and the amount of bits I pay him.

“Yeah. I really need to cut her off much earlier in the nights,” I said. “Catch you tomorrow night.” After watching him go down the street with passed-out customer in tow I headed back inside. There were things that still needed to be done.

Grabbing a push cart I started collecting the bottles, glasses, and mugs that sat on the tables. Some tables had a basket or a few plates for snacks. The majority of them came from “Sugarcube Corner” as they were the only bakers who could make fresh pretzels. Of course many of their fine desserts made it onto the snack menu too; gotta have variety after all.

Wiping-up the last table I made it to the small kitchen where the only other two foods on the menu were made: popcorn and fries. I lamented for a bit, wishing I had an extra hand or two so I could expand the menu and serve hot carrots like they do up in Manehattan. It stinks being the only employee of your own establishment, especially for when I do inevitably get that one pony who needs the bum's rush. Shaking my head from these idle thoughts I load the two dishwashers: one for the bottles and the other for the other dishes.

In case you are wondering why I am washing bottles it is because I reuse them for my beer. I actually brew several varieties of ales, stouts, and lagers in the basement as well as wines. I have not perfected any of the stronger liquors yet so I have to rely on shipments from all over. What, you think my cutie-mark was just for running the bar?

After setting the machines to wash and tossing the rags and my apron into the hamper I made my rounds of putting-out the lights and making sure the door was locked. I use lanterns just for the purpose of setting the atmosphere here. It even compliments the mostly oak construction and furniture here. Fishing a key from my pocket I open another door next to the kitchen, leading upstairs to my living space. A quick glance at the clock up here read ten thirty-nine. Right on cue a yawn escaped from my mouth as I got ready for bed.

I woke-up at the crack of dawn, my eyes slowly adjusting to the sunlight peeking through my windows. Despite having about seven hours of sleep I still felt super-tired. Finally crawling out of bed I performed my usual morning routine: a quick shower, getting dressed, grabbing my food inventory list, and heading to “Sugarcube Corner” for breakfast.

Walking through the front door I was greeted with the cheerful voice of one Pinkie Pie, “Good morning Mr. Red! Will it be the usual?”

I could not help but smile, “Yes please, Pinkie. I also got the daily food order for you,” and I gave her the list of what I needed. If it was not the coffee that woke me up the rest of the way it was always her infectious happiness.

“Okie dokie lokie! It'll be out in a few!” and she hopped into the kitchen.

Taking a seat at one of the vacant tables I eye a newspaper with today's date on it. Settling on passing the time I pick it up, but before looking through any of the stories I turn to one section in particular: the classifieds. Quickly skimming through I finally happen upon my ad under “help wanted”, smiling to the fact that it finally got in the paper only after a couple of days.

“Oh Mr. Red, your cinnamon bun and coffee are ready!” I heard Pinkie call over to me. As I walked up to the counter she asked me, “On your tab?”

I smiled and nodded, “As usual, thank you again.” I then retreated back to my seat, plate between teeth and drink in levetation. Next Chapter: A Cold Employee Estimated time remaining: 4 Minutes