Pictures of Words: untitled #1
You snap out of it when you realize twenty minutes have passed.
“I should go.”
You glance at the clock. 1:30 AM.
“LAST CALL!!!!”
She stands to leave, but you grab her by the hand. Her pupils dilate in a way that seems so familiar. From where you stand, it’s almost as if you can see into them, a perfect angle to read through the iris and into some space. Is it void? No, no. It’s not void. There are words, floating in some viscous solution of thoughts, transparent in nature, but decisively opaque.
“I’m almost done here. Help me close out?”
“This place is SO you!”
“Haha, how so?”
She answers, but preemptively you tune her out. It’s a busier night than usual. All but two of the counter seats have already been taken, and those sitting down at the tables show no indication of getting up any time soon. Perhaps getting a few more tables wouldn’t have hurt? No, no. More tables mean more clutter, and that’s exactly what you don’t need.
“Yeah, this is quite a place you’ve got here. Did you do the interior yourself?”
“Yeah. Just pulled some inspiration from traveling here and there.”
“The atmosphere is so… charming. Reminds me of Copenhagen! Ahh I love Norwegian design.”
“Copenhagen is in Denmark. He meant Danish… Ahh yeah, Copenhagen was a huge influence, but I got most of my ideas from the Japanese. So, can I start you two off with some drinks?”
“Surprise m–”
“–Two old fashioneds. One straight, one on the rocks.”
You raise an eyebrow and wait a few seconds. No? Nothing? Perhaps it’s just you.
“Any preference on the whiskey?”
“Kno–”
“–What would you recommend?”
You try not to let out a sigh. Admirable attempt really, to steer towards a more polygamous conversation. You start reciting the top shelf in bourbon labels. One acts interested, the other doesn’t even bother. Just as rotely, you pour the shots, dash the bitters, and garnish the top. One with ice, the other without. Strange, this is usually more fun.
“Two old fashioneds. One with rocks. One straight.”
He raises his finger in a motion indicative of a puppeteer accustomed to pulling the strings, and notions for the drink without ice. Why did you even bother trying to place the glasses in a non-assuming way?
“So, I heard you used to be an engineer?”
“Yeah, I’ve been telling him how interesting your work was!”
“So what’s the deal with this place?”
You pour yourself a drink.
“It’s just something I’ve been wanting to do for a while. I’m told you do music?”
“Composition and production, yeah. Have you heard of The Opal?”
“It just won a bunch of awards at Tribeca, no?”
“Yeah. I helped score the film. It was my last project at the company actually. I just submitted my resignation last week. Going to try and start my own team. Is that rum you’re drinking?”
“This? Oh god no, this is cold bre – OH, I’m sorry. Would you like another drink?”
In pretending to care, you realize you forgot the number one rule of customer service.
“Ah, no it’s quite okay. It’s actually getting quite late. I have an early meeting with some potential partners tomorrow and I should probably spend some time tonight preparing. We should get going.”
“But I haven’t finished my drink yet!”
“You don’t even like whiskey! Just look at the progress you’ve made! I really need to get –”
“Look, tonight was supposed to be a night out. My friend was nice enough to show us around, serve us drinks, and here you are acting like a real–”
His phone rings. Or is it a smart watch? No matter, nothing you should concern yourself with.
“Excuse me for a minute.”
You pardon yourself from their company, to nobody’s notice but yours. A breath of relief escapes your chest as you move to serve the couple by the turntable. A minute turns into five, then ten, then twenty. Having run out of glasses to polish, you notice that she is still here. Staring into two empty whiskey glasses.
“I could’ve sworn those were full last I checked. More?”
You start pouring before she can answer. She finishes hers before you pour your own, and notions for another.
“Cheers?”
“cheers.”
Originally written April 18, 2016