(no subject)
i am in his line of fire; but only because i have put myself there. I can feel the weight of his eyes and smell the bitter pints knocked back on his breath when he speaks lowly in my ear with nothing to say. We laughed at something that has gone unspoken and the regulars laugh at something I’m sorry I missed; one nodding off at his can of Pabst.
There is a ribbon of a woman’s laughter threaded through the softly lit room, an exhalation as someone sets a beer on the wooden counter, the spill of notes as the musician strikes a chord and I re-enter my conversation with the stranger. I smile at his joke I pretend that I’ve heard as I twirl my toothpick across my mouth with my tongue; my elbow resting on the bar, my hand hanging loosely by my chin. jadedly counting the hours of sleep i think i might get; the outcome low at best.
music is playing on a tape from behind the counter, the song is soft and lingers on the air, delicately applied to the moment like antiseptic to a fresh wound.
I let my eyes slip into his. They click into place and a wave of energy courses through me and spills out into a smile and a sentence slurred by three dollar microbrews poured by my new best friends. I brush his arm and shift my gaze to the broken rhythm of clinking glasses being washed carefully by hand the behind the red curtain in the backroom, picturing the three sinks I know are there lined up; holding an assortment of dishes and the working hands of a friend I feel pacified by their simplicity.
It’s the eve of recycling day and i can hear the destitute rummaging through the blue plastic containers outside the surrounding eateries and bars.
A siren cries in the distance. A dog barks. The woman’s laughter comes again and the band begins to play; striking up and shifting my attention and energy so that the beer I’ve been drinking swirls and makes me stand to sway along with the melody.