ROBERT DE NIRO AND THAT ONE OLIVE
The bar was dark, with only a dim light above the counter. De Niro sat in his usual spot. The bartender nodded without asking what he wanted. ‘Martini,’ said De Niro, slowly, as always. ‘Dirty. Two olives. Not too soft.’ The bartender nodded again and mixed the drink. De Niro watched the olive slide into the glass. He took the first sip. ‘Perfect,’ he murmured. ‘Salty enough, bitter enough, like life.’
A lady next to him smiled. De Niro looked up briefly. ‘You know,’ he said quietly, ‘sometimes all it takes is one olive to understand what's good. Not the whole world – just that one olive.’ He tapped the glass lightly, the olives clacking against each other. ‘That's how it is,’ he said, took a second sip and leaned back. The night outside was cold, inside warm. The olive was small, but somehow... everything else was meaningless. Yes, that one olive.