She’s sitting alone at the bar. Suit, hair pulled back in a clean, business-like pony tail, red hair barely hitting the collar of her suit jacket.
She’s sitting alone, but she’s not waiting on anyone. She’s…just alone.
Rum and coke sweating into her coaster, ice melting by the second,
and all she can think about is how all she has to go home to is an empty apartment and her roommate’s cat that barely acknowledges her on a good day.
31, fairly pretty (she thinks anyway), single, and nothing to show for her life but an empty bar stool sitting next to her and a quickly watering glass of rum.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
She’s jolted out of thinking abso-fucking-lutely nothing by a voice right by her ear. The bar is busy and loud so it only makes sense. Logistics and all.
She manages a tight smile. “I’m afraid my thoughts are worth far more than a penny.”
Great. Just great. Chase away the humans with your neverending supply of unhelpful sarcasm, Alex. Good job.
But the face with the voice right by her ear only smiles, laughs a little, and sets herself down in the no-longer empty seat to her left.
Okay. A body may prove more comforting than a phone held under the bar.
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” mystery woman says, smile still in place.
Alright, so she can keep up.
Fine. I’ll take the hint, Universe.