She came in Sunday mornings with her sunglasses still on, plopped herself down at seat 7, and began her musings at my bartop. "Seabreeze me!" I slid it down to her thinking that one of these days, the cocktail was going to end up on the floor. Not today. Not ever actually. I heard about her ex, the next, and the next ex for years. Finally, I asked her one day if she ever drank anything else. "What day do I come in here?" "Sundays." I replied. "Yeah, and what do you think I do the other days?" I had wondered this myself for a time and finally said, "I don't know. Brew up stories to amuse all of us with?" As I was helping other guests, she put cash on the bar and left. I picked it up and with it was a book: "Sunday SeaBreeze Soliloquies." She was an accomplished author. All these years I thought I was getting her life story, and it turns out she was getting all of ours.