Today we stumble across a short bit to make us thirsty for more. Maybe it’s something, maybe not. I’m not here to judge anything. I just put the words to the page.
Focus in on the edge of a glass. A finger twists across its surface and the glass begins to hum. A single note that barely registered beyond the bar-top the musician leaned against. Quiet bar, small local crowd that sought little more than a pint or a shot glass to lose a bit of their memories to.
He hadn’t been bothered by anyone for the longest time, though he had been nursing the whiskey in this glass for longer than he probably should have. Jack hadn’t slipped into drunk in a long time. It had been close to an old friend in his past but now it had become a distant memory. The whiskey still hadn’t touched his lips. The sole ice cube in the glass had melted away long ago.
Still no one bothered with him. Left alone to his thoughts, to gaze at the bottom of his glass. The amber liquid held no secrets at least none to be given to him. At this point he wasn’t sure he would want to know what the whiskey would tell him anyway.
After a time, he pushed the glass away. Left it at the edge of the bar top. With his hands at the edge of the bar he readied to push himself away and stand again. The thoughts of standing, of leaving the bar had been intense. He needed to be away from all of it and what it represented so he could get on with his life. But a small part of him, buried deep down, wouldn’t let him go. The pull to grab his whiskey glass again compelled him to stay.
His hands were drawn away from the edge of the bar. Anticipation for the flavors that would play across his tongue overwhelmed him. It took everything he had left in him to walk away again.
If you enjoy these stories, consider leaving some coffee money in the jar or you could buy a book or two. Either way helps keep the stories flowing.