one or the other

It is an icy dark drink in front of me,
froth sneering at me like a tortured pit-bull.
I stole this drink from a half empty bar,
full of boozers, problem drinkers,
me in ten years or so.
One man forced a smile and uttered,
“I won’t say a thing,” he said, “if you share it with me.”  
It’s an eerie blank drink in front of me,
generic, barely visible.
I found this drink at a crowded bar,
full of legends, important people,
me in ten years or so.
One man humbly announced,
“That should be my bottle,” he said, “but you can have it for me.”