A Typical Night Out
The smoke hung heavy over the dusty tables and rickety chairs like fog over a swamp. The lights were dim, as if the owners of the place were trying to hide the beer stains and cigarette burns that everyone already knew were there. The music from the dance floor drifted eerily atop the smoke like a light glaze, the soft jazz beat permeating everything until I could feel the off beat resonate lightly against my sternum.
It was a typical night out with the aquaintences I call my friends, who I could see on the far side of the dance floor, both of them attatched to the arm of an adoring man, whispering coyly in their ears, both trying desperately to make the catch. This sort of evening was an eternal frustration of mine that I could never, of course, express to either of them. Perhaps it was not so much that I felt it was wrong to pursue someone so openly and shamelessly, but it was certainly not my style. This, I considered bitterly, was quite probably contributory to my current predicament. Comfortably settled at a corner table, a glass of Cabernet-Merlot in my hand, surveying the scene before me with a clinical, rather cynical gaze. I sighed, considering the hopelessness of it all, and happened to catch the sight of Maria, moving in on her helpess victim, and resolved within myself that the lonliness was worth it. I simply didn't need the company badly enough to lower myself to that level.
I stared into the glass in my hand, wondering if it needed refilling. Concluding that refills were always in order, I reached for the bottle. Watching the rich red liquid gurgle into the glass, I quite suddenly got the feeling that I was being considered in much the same way. I finished pouring the wine and slowlytook a sip, taking notice at last of the person leaning against the wall uncomfortabley close to my right shoulder. I decide, in my arrogant fashion, that I would wait until they chose to announce themselve. I don't really mind being stared at, in fact, I consider it a compliment.
I leaned back in my chair and recrossed my legs, just waiting. Quite suddenly, I caught the acrid scent of cigarette smoke. I coughed lightly, feeling my throat already starting to close off in rebellion as my ire rose. There is some shit up with which I will not put, and people blowing cigarette smoke in my face is one of them. Especially when they haven't asked for permission. I turned around, glare on my face, and sharp words on my tongue, but stopped short when I saw just who was standing behind me.
The moment I laid eyes on him, he annoyed me. I'd never seen him before, but he emanated familiarity, as if he already knew who I was and how I would react to his presence. He was tall and thin dressed in a black suit and shirt with a bloodred tie and handkerchief. His long hair fell about his face like dark velvet, his dark eyes surveying me with the arrogance of man who expected all women to fawn all over him. That merely augmented my displeasure, and I stood up, taking no small comfort in the fact that he was only a head or so taller than I. I smiled at him, and took a step closer, eyeing the offending cigarette, still nestled lightly between his fingers.
"Can I help you?" he asked, voice smooth as chocolate. I studied hime for a moment, considering. "No,thanks," I replied smiling again,"I think I'll help myself." I reached out, took the cigarette out of his hand and butted it out on the wall beside his face. The look of shock on his face was worth the entire wasted evening. I placed the butt neatly back in his fingers, and smiled once more, "Have a nice evening," I said lightly. Turning on my heel, I picked up my glass and headed over to the other side of the room.
Finding another table, I sat down to finish my glass, only then realizing that I had forgotten the bottle at the other table. That really did me in. I resolved that this was the last night I would spend in a dingy club watching my friends try desperately to get picked up by some dismal loser. Draining my glass, I looked around the club once more, eying both of my compariots listening indulgently to the awful crooner who had deigned to take the stage, both still attatched to the aforementiond losers. Clearly, I would not be missed, and the time was ripe to make my escape.
I shrugged slightly as I walked toward the coat check, thinking that the walk home would be good for me, although the high heels would complicate things a bit. I pulled on my jacket and picked up my bag, heading out the door. Just my luck, I thought as it closed behind me. The night I decide to ditch my ride, it rains. Not that I dislike rain, but the high heels do complicate things. I sighed in resignation. My flat and my dog were calling me with the promise of curling up on the couch in comfortable clothing, with more excellent wine, better literature and exemplary company. With a smile of anticipation, I set off into the lightly falling rain.
It was a typical night out with the aquaintences I call my friends, who I could see on the far side of the dance floor, both of them attatched to the arm of an adoring man, whispering coyly in their ears, both trying desperately to make the catch. This sort of evening was an eternal frustration of mine that I could never, of course, express to either of them. Perhaps it was not so much that I felt it was wrong to pursue someone so openly and shamelessly, but it was certainly not my style. This, I considered bitterly, was quite probably contributory to my current predicament. Comfortably settled at a corner table, a glass of Cabernet-Merlot in my hand, surveying the scene before me with a clinical, rather cynical gaze. I sighed, considering the hopelessness of it all, and happened to catch the sight of Maria, moving in on her helpess victim, and resolved within myself that the lonliness was worth it. I simply didn't need the company badly enough to lower myself to that level.
I stared into the glass in my hand, wondering if it needed refilling. Concluding that refills were always in order, I reached for the bottle. Watching the rich red liquid gurgle into the glass, I quite suddenly got the feeling that I was being considered in much the same way. I finished pouring the wine and slowlytook a sip, taking notice at last of the person leaning against the wall uncomfortabley close to my right shoulder. I decide, in my arrogant fashion, that I would wait until they chose to announce themselve. I don't really mind being stared at, in fact, I consider it a compliment.
I leaned back in my chair and recrossed my legs, just waiting. Quite suddenly, I caught the acrid scent of cigarette smoke. I coughed lightly, feeling my throat already starting to close off in rebellion as my ire rose. There is some shit up with which I will not put, and people blowing cigarette smoke in my face is one of them. Especially when they haven't asked for permission. I turned around, glare on my face, and sharp words on my tongue, but stopped short when I saw just who was standing behind me.
The moment I laid eyes on him, he annoyed me. I'd never seen him before, but he emanated familiarity, as if he already knew who I was and how I would react to his presence. He was tall and thin dressed in a black suit and shirt with a bloodred tie and handkerchief. His long hair fell about his face like dark velvet, his dark eyes surveying me with the arrogance of man who expected all women to fawn all over him. That merely augmented my displeasure, and I stood up, taking no small comfort in the fact that he was only a head or so taller than I. I smiled at him, and took a step closer, eyeing the offending cigarette, still nestled lightly between his fingers.
"Can I help you?" he asked, voice smooth as chocolate. I studied hime for a moment, considering. "No,thanks," I replied smiling again,"I think I'll help myself." I reached out, took the cigarette out of his hand and butted it out on the wall beside his face. The look of shock on his face was worth the entire wasted evening. I placed the butt neatly back in his fingers, and smiled once more, "Have a nice evening," I said lightly. Turning on my heel, I picked up my glass and headed over to the other side of the room.
Finding another table, I sat down to finish my glass, only then realizing that I had forgotten the bottle at the other table. That really did me in. I resolved that this was the last night I would spend in a dingy club watching my friends try desperately to get picked up by some dismal loser. Draining my glass, I looked around the club once more, eying both of my compariots listening indulgently to the awful crooner who had deigned to take the stage, both still attatched to the aforementiond losers. Clearly, I would not be missed, and the time was ripe to make my escape.
I shrugged slightly as I walked toward the coat check, thinking that the walk home would be good for me, although the high heels would complicate things a bit. I pulled on my jacket and picked up my bag, heading out the door. Just my luck, I thought as it closed behind me. The night I decide to ditch my ride, it rains. Not that I dislike rain, but the high heels do complicate things. I sighed in resignation. My flat and my dog were calling me with the promise of curling up on the couch in comfortable clothing, with more excellent wine, better literature and exemplary company. With a smile of anticipation, I set off into the lightly falling rain.