(no subject)
The music was louder than the death of the Pope, or so it seemed. The door, although so far away, directed a breeze of bitter honesty along the faces lining the bar. The special for the night was $2 22oz drafts. Tall glasses lined the bar like buildings on a city street, and the traffic in this place was just too much to digest.
Swallowing beer as if it cured his inner turmoil, he silently signaled to the bartender for another, pulling a lighter to flick at the cigarette that hung from his lips like the millions of words he couldn’t speak.
As he pulled on the cigarette and the flames hit the leaf he felt that brief rush of relief. You could see the sunset on his face as the lighter lit and slowly faded.