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First a pair of dusty brown docks, the worn end of one balanced on the top of the other precariously, like a circus act. Then the frayed pantleg edges of bleached demins. A white-wash blue, continuing to a clean, loose white t-shirt, unlabelled. A cigarette, a white Player's, danced between deceivingly delicate fingers. The hand moved to parting lips, and the owner took a long drag.
"Do you dance, Señor Raymond?" She took another drag.
"Not legally, madame. But to entertain your company, my two left feet are at your service," I countered, motioning to the barkeep for another vodka. Response was prompt, and I sipped my drink. The ringing in my ears from the musty, smoky atmosphere and the kitschy music slopped about in my head. I'll need several more I thought, wiping my mustache gingerly with a napkin, before I'll want to go home.
Rachael peered at me, taking another drag of her cancer stick. "You say you work in real estate?". I nodded, sloshing down another drink. Everything slowed down. "Past twenty years," I heard myself say. "It's an occupation with tremendous oppurtunities madame. You would be wise to try it yourself, with your charisma."
Rachael blushed, putting out her cigarette in a full grotesquely full ashtray on the bar counter. I felt the burning in my chest again. She ordered a beer like she was ordering a car; it seemed like a grand affair. She turned to me. "Do you love me?" she asked.
I stood up from my stool, and slipped a package of cigarettes from my sports jacket pocket, drawing one out and placing it to my lips.
"No," I lied, and turned away.
I looked outside of the window. The snow was falling like tiny white crystals in the air. A flick of my zippo and the smoke filled my lungs. The ringing in my ears wouldn't stop. The room was spinning already. I walked as quickly as I could politely to the door of the bar, and entered the cold.
The skyline burned a thick black red to my watering eyes. I crushed the cigarette in my hand and thew it violently aside. When my eyes dried I could see the northern star in a sea of calm space.
Tonight I sleep with my wife. Tonight I see my unborn son.
"Do you dance, Señor Raymond?" She took another drag.
"Not legally, madame. But to entertain your company, my two left feet are at your service," I countered, motioning to the barkeep for another vodka. Response was prompt, and I sipped my drink. The ringing in my ears from the musty, smoky atmosphere and the kitschy music slopped about in my head. I'll need several more I thought, wiping my mustache gingerly with a napkin, before I'll want to go home.
Rachael peered at me, taking another drag of her cancer stick. "You say you work in real estate?". I nodded, sloshing down another drink. Everything slowed down. "Past twenty years," I heard myself say. "It's an occupation with tremendous oppurtunities madame. You would be wise to try it yourself, with your charisma."
Rachael blushed, putting out her cigarette in a full grotesquely full ashtray on the bar counter. I felt the burning in my chest again. She ordered a beer like she was ordering a car; it seemed like a grand affair. She turned to me. "Do you love me?" she asked.
I stood up from my stool, and slipped a package of cigarettes from my sports jacket pocket, drawing one out and placing it to my lips.
"No," I lied, and turned away.
I looked outside of the window. The snow was falling like tiny white crystals in the air. A flick of my zippo and the smoke filled my lungs. The ringing in my ears wouldn't stop. The room was spinning already. I walked as quickly as I could politely to the door of the bar, and entered the cold.
The skyline burned a thick black red to my watering eyes. I crushed the cigarette in my hand and thew it violently aside. When my eyes dried I could see the northern star in a sea of calm space.
Tonight I sleep with my wife. Tonight I see my unborn son.
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