Not interested

Part 1

A late cold February evening somehow made me feel anxious. А full silver moon was rising in the inky sky and there was no sign of distant and indifferent stars. But I wasn't interested.

In a noisy and dimly lit bar, it was impossible to care about moon and stars. There was a smoky and relaxed atmosphere accompanied by melodic sounds of saxophone which I was, as usual, a part of.

Like any other evening for the past few months, I was sitting at the bar drinking some random liquid which was shimmering through the glass in the dim lights. I didn't know what it was. To be honest, I didn't care. I just wanted to rest a little.

It wasn't like something bad happened or I was exhausted as hell. No, it was just one of the times when you don't really want to care about the inky sky and the absence of stars. With no reason and explanation, you feel extremely bored with yourself.

As a writer, I didn't feel like that often. With all the life plans to write a masterpiece, I was usually too busy to be bored. I've been sending my manuscripts to numerous publishings and getting them back with comment "Good, but not enough" for a year. I felt myself like Jack London's Martin Eden repeating the same routine every day. The road from my typewriter to the post office was almost native.

But lately, something completely changed. I haven't written a word for two months and I had no idea why. I just didn't feel like that and it made me feel strange. Was it a creative crisis? I didn't know and this evening wasn't the one to find out.

'One more glass, Lil?' suddenly asked barmen making me jump on my spot. His voice scattered my thoughts and I didn't like it much.

'Yes, please, Jack' I answered dispassionately. God, what a typical name for a barman, I thought. I was looking at his almost perfect features while he was making me a cocktail and suddenly felt an annoying ache in my head. J-a-c-k. I spelt his name in my thoughts and found every letter of it tasteless. Oh, just like he was.

'So, what about a new book? What is it about?' Jack gave me a full of interest look which I hated. There is just one simple rule in this world: don't tell too much about your life some random barman if you like the bar. There is a huge possibility that you'll come back and he will ask you a lot of questions.

'There will be no book' I said feeling tired. 'As my old friend likes to say, it's time to forget about it'

'But why?' he asked with confusion on his almost perfect face. That made me laugh somehow. It's always funny to see good-looking people being confused.

'I just don't want to write anymore, isn't it obvious?' I answered with annoyance and Jack's emerald shiny eyes went out. I didn't want to sound so rude and I heard an echo of guilt in my ears almost immediately. But this time I had no urge to feel sorry about it.

He was about to say something but I just didn't feel like it. I took a glass in my hand and made my way to the nearest empty table. I wanted to feel something else than itchy boredom which was following me.

Suddenly someone stumbled on me and a cocktail in my hand fell on the floor turning into a pile of broken glass. What a pity it would be if I cared about it.

But it was a social habit to start drama and I was just like everyone else that evening. I got ready to face a culprit of an incident with that annoying look of disgust but when I looked at his guilty eyes I couldn't say a word.

A tall and quite handsome guy was standing in front of me. A big word "sorry" was painted on his face 'cause he was a man who is usually called "a good guy". The one who is always funny enough and kind. The one who is a good adviser and friend. He was a typical minor character who is usually better than main ones and always underestimated. I saw it in his grey milky eyes and understood that it was a beginning of something. I didn't know was it good or bad, I just felt it.