Sometimes when you get a bout of bad news you can’t stand any company and conspire to be as alone as possible. But the thing about bars is that for every day there’s a sad story, and five sadder drunks. I sat at the end of the bar and ordered two Makers. She put the second glass in front of the stool next to me, and I just self-consciously slid it back over in front of me. After thirty or so minutes, this tiny brunette sits two stools away. She orders a Long Island, and I smirk to my bourbon. She asks me if I have anything against her drink.
Only the place.
Fair enough.
And we go back to awkward silence, but I can tell she’s itching to bare her soul. She introduces herself, Ashley. I’d been listening to a lot of Nick Cave lately, so I introduced myself as Henry Lee. I wasn’t really feeling like vapid conversation, and sex as deep as a glass of water was extremely not on the docket. She asked why I was drinking alone, and I simply said two words.
Hard day.
Then she starts going into how she got laid off from her job, and how she broke up with her boyfriend, and in twenty minutes she’s holding back the tears that are starting to well up. I can tell she wants me to hug her, but I don’t really feel any sense of remorse about just sitting there. I don’t abandon her, but I order another Markers, and just let her talk. I buy her a drink, and she says she’ll also have one of what I’m having, so I slide that over as well. She had a sip and grimaced. I offered to take if off her hands, she shook her head like a stubborn little girl.
When she was done, she thanked me for listening, and I got out of there, and she tried to follow me. She asked what way I was going, and I told her, and she sadly said, “Oh, I was hoping we could split a cab.” I didn’t really reply before she started to thank me for listening, and I could tell she wanted me to awkwardly move my cheek so she could kiss me on the lips, but I didn’t.
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