He shoots a glance. A woman, a very attractive woman, dawning the “Water?” “Sure.” standard stunning dress and playful makeup squeezes into a spot that didn’t really exist beside me and signals the bartender for a Bloody Mary. She turns around and leans against the bar while I stare her down, practically committing her to memory. I can’t quite place what it is about her exactly, perhaps her small frame, the chaotic pattern of freckles on her shoulder, or the faint scent of lilacs, lilies, or some other earthly delight dancing around her, but there is something about this girl that reminds me of her, of Grace. Probably sensing that she’s being watched, she leans her head in my direction and meets my eyes. Anxiety swells inside of me and begins to slowly drip from my pores. Stampeding thoughts wreck my mind. Feelings of whether or not I’m ready to finally try and move on from Grace pummel me more than the music. Before I finish panicking, the woman’s drink is brought to her and she slips away. I’m not sure if I’m ready to claim a spot in New York’s night scene, but my roommate, Abe, made it persistently clear that no male under thirty should spend his Fridays with his eyes glued to black ink on some page instead of on some chick’ (his words, not mine). So, thanks to the power ‘sexy of peer pressure, here I am at the closest nightclub to my apartment, still pretty much alone. The bartender slams a drink down behind me. I grab the sweating glass, throw the drink back, and choke as my throat stings from a sudden burn. is this?” I tip the glass and stare at the clear drink. “What call it unholy the bartender answers and then walks away. I bring the glass up to “I my nose and try to place the smell before taking another, much smaller swallow. A cold, rough shoulder grinds against mine and causes me to spill some of my special water. someone is kinda existing right here so-“ I turn to face the prick and find a small “Hey, round face that’s more grey than pale, with large buggy eyes, and a blank expression mere inches
“Water?” He shoots a glance. “Sure.” A woman, a very attractive woman, dawning the standard stunning dress and playful makeup squeezes into a spot that didn’t really exist beside me and signals the bartender for a Bloody Mary. She turns around and leans against the bar while I stare her down, practically committing her to memory. I can’t quite place what it is about her exactly, perhaps her small frame, the chaotic pattern of freckles on her shoulder, or the faint scent of lilacs, lilies, or some other earthly delight dancing around her, but there is something about this girl that reminds me of her, of Grace. Probably sensing that she’s being watched, she leans her head in my direction and meets my eyes. Anxiety swells inside of me and begins to slowly drip from my pores. Stampeding thoughts wreck my mind. Feelings of whether or not I’m ready to finally try and move on from Grace pummel me more than the music. Before I finish panicking, the woman’s drink is brought to her and she slips away. I’m not sure if I’m ready to claim a spot in New York’s night scene, but my roommate, Abe, made it persistently clear that no male under thirty should spend his Fridays with his eyes glued to black ink on some page instead of on some ‘sexy chick’ (his words, not mine). So, thanks to the power of peer pressure, here I am at the closest nightclub to my apartment, still pretty much alone. The bartender slams a drink down behind me. I grab the sweating glass, throw the drink back, and choke as my throat stings from a sudden burn. “What is this?” I tip the glass and stare at the clear drink. “I call it unholy the bartender answers and then walks away. I bring the glass up to my nose and try to place the smell before taking another, much smaller swallow. A cold, rough shoulder grinds against mine and causes me to spill some of my special water. “Hey, someone is kinda existing right here so-“ I turn to face the prick and find a small round face that’s more grey than pale, with large buggy eyes, and a blank expression mere inches
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