seasonal deaths

gin joint 76

Of all the gin joints in town, she decided to walk into mine. She walked in dazed and seemingly in distress. She had a dark mole under her lip and trailing tear streaks on her cheeks.
But I was fixated on her luminous eyes and dark hair.

"hey sir, can you give me a stiff one? I need it to keep me from wallowing in woe."

Sir? I'm not phased by the word, it's the way she says it that pulls me in. I usually avoid any emotional attachment to any soul, but something in her hazel eyes said 'I'm different.'

"what happened?" I asked

"A boy stepped on my heart. He gave me waves of passion and promises of forever and left me in a hotel room sitting alone."

"People do that sometimes. Take you off the shelf, turn a few pages, decide you're not good enough and leave you open faced on the table of a coffee shop hoping some one else will find you... Or in your case a hotel room." I replied.

She giggled. I sighed with relief. Usually when I talk to humans, gloomy is the mood that comes across the interface. It has been that way for five years now, ever since my closest friend was wiped from existence by a pale-faced drunk 18 year old driving on Laffayete street.

"Speaking from experience?"

"Do you need a refill?" I asked.

"Yeah, keep it coming."

I've already attached myself and I don't like it. I feel sympathetic towards her, a feeling that has gotten me in trouble before. Trying to save a person is a risky business so I kept on refilling her glass to keep her from letting me further into her depths. A few minutes later after a dozen glasses, she was staring at me, bright eyed and curious.

"You're just like me aren't you? You're drowning and you know it but you don't want any help. That's why you're working here, isnt it? To cocoon yourself from the world."

I was perturbed now. I gave her a cold stare. She is drunk, I told myself. She continued..

"You prefer dealing with strangers because they don't ask too many questions. Giving them scribbled letters diguised as alcohol to let them know that you understand their pain. The battle scars on your left hand tell me tales of heartbreak."

"So you think you know me?"

"No, but I can see your pain as much as you can see mine. Meet me at the shoreline once we've both found a reason to learn how to swim."

She downed her last drink and went for the door. She analysed my autopsy and left the casket open.

note from author:
This is the first of half written scenes set in my hometown. I'm a scattered writer but all these parts will come together in the end.