A Morose Vignette

The young man sat in the corner of the bar, drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon, with a frown on his pockmarked face, at one thirty-five of a Thursday afternoon. He had been sitting there for well over an hour, nursing the one bottle. In fact, that bottle still contained two-thirds of the thick liquid. He hated drinking the stuff, but he loved to inhale the aroma. It reminded him of his mom, may she rest in peace.

It was his 18th birthday, and he should have been celebrating with his oldest friend in the world, but they had argued the night before and she wasn’t speaking to him. She hadn’t texted him a birthday greeting, not even a generic one. At that moment he hated her. He could feel it deep in his gut, but just in that moment. He knew it would pass, but in that moment he savored it like a kid with a lollipop.

The minute hand of the clock over the bar slid from thirty-five to thirty-six, but he was paying it no mind. He took a small, absentminded sip of his beer, and he didn’t even taste it, he was so caught up in his problems. Outside it started to rain, thick fat drops that landed with muted thuds on the ground below.

He had no right to, but he felt sorry for himself. The events of the past few days had left him broken in a way he felt could never be repaired. And he had no more tears to shed over the girl who would never know. Leaving a small tip in the condensation left by his bottle on the tabletop, he shuffled out of the bar, taking the bottle with him.

Sam