One More Drink

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“One more drink.” The thought came to him clear as day, the voice in his head not nearly as sloshed as the voice which was coming from his mouth. He hesitated. Glancing at his glass, he observed the oversized ice cubes melting and molding together, as though they were playing a game of Tetris.

A bartender walked past. She glanced at his glass, but didn’t pause to ask if he wanted another. “Bitch,” he thought silently to himself. She had been ignoring him all night. Thank God there were two of them working.

Brian’s memories wandered to the week before. It had been his first time in this place. His other “usual” spot needed some air – a brief separation period. He’d heckled the patrons one too many times they said as they carried him out the front door, leaving him cold and alone in the gravel lot. They’d change their minds. He was just having fun – livening things up a bit. Everyone around here was so uptight.

It was just after that, stumbling home on the long, dark stretch of highway, that he found this bar. He caught the eye of the female bartender right away and she’d smiled. He’d felt his heart stop briefly in his chest before it hammered back to life. His mouth felt dry. She was gorgeous with a full face, brown eyes, and a low-cut shirt showing just the right amount of her ample bosom.

As he sat on a barstool that night, he’d slurred his way though an order. She’d only brought him water saying it was on the house. He’d thrown it at her.

They’d dragged him out quickly, but this time he had waited. He was sorry. He hadn’t meant to throw the water at her it was an accident. Sometimes, he just got so angry when people treated him like a drunk. He wasn’t a drunk. He just enjoyed having fun – and there was a difference.

When she came out, likely to drive herself home, he’d tried to apologize but she began to scream. Afraid someone would call the cops, he’d run away.

He snapped back to the present. He’d shaved his beard and cut his hair so he wouldn’t be recognized tonight. He could tell that he still gave her an uneasy feeling, but one that she couldn’t quite place. She’d know soon enough. This time, he wouldn’t give her time to scream. This time, he’d be ready. After all, if they were going to call the police and have him thrown into jail, he may as well make it well worth the time.

First, however, he needed one last drink. He signaled with his index finger. The male bartender, who had been leaning against the counter simply nodded, reached for a small glass, tossed in some ice and began to pour.


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