Simply Red [writing task seven]

What is the difference between a Tuesday then
and a Tuesday now? The years
The chalk pastel light, lowlighting the dark sugar-paper scene.
Tuesdays were for the bright lights
streetlights, shop signs, dance floor strobelights
Text-me-when-you're-home-safe, good night.
Now the only safety is a relaxed grasp
on the three-quarters empty tumbler glass,
almost set into the bar. A relic,
a monument at the same place with the same seat,
5:30 'til last orders, his after work retreat.
You'd think as years went by
he'd be on first name terms with the barman,
instead, the silhouette of his slumped face on his hand and arm
has engraved his person into the bar, I guess
Nothing had the chance to be good,
Nothing ever could.

The only re-occurrence, similarity to those wonder days,
the ponder, the memory of that Tuesday night,
she mimicked his two step and flailing arms, smiling, giggling.
"My name is Amy" she shouted at him, over the music.
The only interest he'd ever had or would have.
The only time she replied to him.
11 digit number, he saw her put it in her phone.
Since then, the numb silence, the trumpet's tone,
somber, the realization: he's damned to be alone.
Propped up by the bar, his features poorly illuminated,
The speaker's sound wavers around his shade
I'll keep holding on.