On The Floor

              One last mouthful of gritty cheap beer made its way down my throat as I heard the words every drunk despises at 2’oclock in the morning. While men shouted and cheered, stumbling and skipping to the long dark wall of stools and pieced together boards in front of me, crowding around like a swarm of mosquitoes for one last pull off the arm of some unexpecting victim in a quiet dark forest that my soul burned for.

              I took the last drink offered to me as my glassy eyes fell upon the eight dollars laying in front of me, ashamed it was all I had left and part of the reason I had given a girl a cold shoulder hours before instead of buying her a drink. She had been pretty, eyes the color of the dark wood my elbows rested upon, not cracked and worn but perfect in a way only eyes can be. Intelligent portals into another world I would never be a part of framed in that round face with reddening cheeks and dark hair that washed the color from everything around her, as if she was the only one to focus on in a room with dozens of people.

              A long pull of the bottle that had been placed in front of me deposited more of the liquid down my throat as I brushed the thought aside. I cast the dreams of happy endings aside many years ago I tell myself as my alcohol saturated blood gets that hot regretful feeling again. When I tell myself if only in another life I often wonder if this is the life I should be bettering, to not stay out this late, to not drink this much, I could be good enough for a girl like that one day.

              One day never really comes though, not how I’m doing this at least, if my legs work well enough to place me in front of my microwave tonight and I am able to microwave a burrito for a minute instead of an hour and stay conscious until the end that will be a better night than the last.

              My bottle has been drained halfway when the lights begin to dim, bartenders begin to shout, not in anger, they have drank nearly as much as the rest of us tonight, making for a camaraderie amongst the more social bubbly patrons around me. I am a few years older than them, a few years wiser I would like to think, but that is a lie. I am not old but I am tired, I am not wise but I have gathered experiences, yet I will stumble home tonight empty and alone.

              Her face still lingers in my mind as I shuffle through the crowd that has gathered under dull lights, my boots planting themselves into the ground, squeaking and slipping one at a time as I bump into men and women. More noise sounds behind me, the barrier made of steel and glass that separates the clean air from the sweaty alcohol soaked atmosphere we created tonight my destination. Laughs sounded as I stumbled into a dark empty pool table before slamming into the corner of the heavy bar I had sat at moments ago.

              I saw her again while I rest on the floor amongst the cigarette ash and spit,  spilt drinks and the crumbs that had not been swept away from the last weekend. Her brother she had stopped by to take home, the huge man I had bounced off of, they walked me home that night.

              Now I sit with a coffee and a chip that tells me I am doing well. I still crave those nights, that bell that rings and you scramble for one more when you had enough hours ago.