bartender ~p.h. one-shot~

(author's note: lower case intended. enjoy, mes bien-aimés)

she has drank so much she can not see the empty glass bowl of peanuts in front of her. or the empty beer bottles.

"ma'am, we're closing." the bartender says in his singsong, voice. she is the last one in the bar. she is the gum left on your shoe after a day out with friends. she is alone. there is no one to pick her up.

the bartender becomes more concerned as he approaches the young woman. she has limp blonde hair and a black sweater on. he, politely as he can, slumps her up.

"ma'am, we're closing."

"love," she says, swaying, "will be the death of me.

love is so fickle."

he sighs. "ma'am, is there someone i can call?" it is cold and nasty outside. february is harsh in new york.

she does not tell him the names of her sister, her brother, her mother nor father nor friends. there are tears slipping out of her half-closed, murky-blue, bagged eyes. makeup is smeared all around them.

"maybe if i sober up, i'll stop pretending love is forever."

"ma'am, we're closing."

she begins to cry even harder as he gets her out of her chair and into her coat. he wants to reach into her pockets for a cell phone, wallet, chip of happiness.

"you have to kick me out into that cold and rainy weather."

he nods, a bit annoyed with this drunk girl now. he stares at the empty glass peanut bowl, then at her. she is tall and willowy and weepy. "you ate all my peanuts." he says.

"return me to sender." she slurs, rummaging around her coat. she hands him a sticky note with: paige hyland, apt. 12, 78 north street, new york, new york. i apologize beforehand. scrawled onto it in purple pen.

"you do this often?" he asks, calling her a taxi. paige nods slowly. "i drink a lot. my ex-boyfriend used to pick me up." she begins to weep again. "love is so fickle." the tears are like clear icicles on her pale skin.

"it starts with a flood and ends with a trickle."

-fin-