Sydel was all too familiar with the clinking of glass. In the last seven years of bartending at taverns and pubs across the city, she had become fluent in the different types of glass clinking sounds and their meanings. There was the high pitched and resonating clink of the Chardonnay glasses, commonly heard at tables with groups of women getting their ‘girls night out’ started. There was the sharp, brief and muted clink of full pint glasses, heard at the bar during Happy Hour as the construction workers from the nearby site congratulated each other on a job well done. There was also the annoying stinging clink of shot glasses slammed down and slid into one another by a wannabe Romeo, not man enough to shoot whiskey, throwing back several fruity shots to impress the ladies at the bar. But the clinking Sydel was most familiar with was the sound all the different types of glasses made when she gathered them into her hands and brought them over to the sink to wash them and dry them, so they could be clinked by patrons of the bar once more.