Spiraliite
Member
It's dark and crowded, and I crane my neck, looking through the crowd for a familiar face. Small candles flicker on white linen tablecloths, dancing table lights flicker through the cut glass, illuminating a necklace here, flashing teeth there. I feel out of my element, but intensely aware this kind of place used to be a second home. I don't see my friend, so I end up at the bar. The bartender, a lanky and goatee'd man with a bottle opener shoved into his back pocket sifts me out as the only person without a drink.
"New here?" he asks, lifting his chin.
"To this place, yes," I reply. "I've been out of the scene for a long time. It was easier when I was younger," I finish, hoping he'll understand. He understands.
"You're American," he states, it's not a question as my accent has marked me. He pulls a glass out from behind the bar, and begins filling it with ice.
"I haven't even told you my drink yet," I bluster, but I can't hide that I'm impressed. Behind me, I can feel people pressing behind me, getting in line, but the bartender doesn't seem to be hurried.
"Of course I know your drink, we're characters in a story," the bartender replies. "I won't even have a name. Consider yourself lucky, you're the focus." I nod. Of course everything he said was true. He hands me the drink and it's exactly the thing my useless hands need. Without something to clutch they were just resting on the bar but quixotically, restless. I move out of the way as his last words remain with me. I'm the focus, and a main character, but every patron here is their own main character. The old fashioned has a sugar cane swizzle stick, just they way a bar I've visited in the past used to do. I scan the room again, but I still don't see the friend who invited me here. I'm sure he'll show up.
"New here?" he asks, lifting his chin.
"To this place, yes," I reply. "I've been out of the scene for a long time. It was easier when I was younger," I finish, hoping he'll understand. He understands.
"You're American," he states, it's not a question as my accent has marked me. He pulls a glass out from behind the bar, and begins filling it with ice.
"I haven't even told you my drink yet," I bluster, but I can't hide that I'm impressed. Behind me, I can feel people pressing behind me, getting in line, but the bartender doesn't seem to be hurried.
"Of course I know your drink, we're characters in a story," the bartender replies. "I won't even have a name. Consider yourself lucky, you're the focus." I nod. Of course everything he said was true. He hands me the drink and it's exactly the thing my useless hands need. Without something to clutch they were just resting on the bar but quixotically, restless. I move out of the way as his last words remain with me. I'm the focus, and a main character, but every patron here is their own main character. The old fashioned has a sugar cane swizzle stick, just they way a bar I've visited in the past used to do. I scan the room again, but I still don't see the friend who invited me here. I'm sure he'll show up.
. Also, welcome to the forum! Your introduction was seriously cool!