A Girl Walks Into A Bar…

It’s me. I’m the girl. Walking into the bar. Well, the liquor store part.

I walk up close to the counter and look at all of the bottles displayed before me even though I damn well know exactly what I’m going to be buying.

The guy behind the counter looks young…younger than I am. I slide over to where he’s standing and he asks me if he can help me with anything. “Do you have a bottle of the Jersey White cold in the back?” “I’m pretty sure, yeah. Let me go check.” “Thanks.”

He emerges from the back with my lifeblood in his hands. Before he tells me the price, I pipe in, “Throw in one of those little Fireball dudes.”. I pay the guy and then head back to my car.

It takes a literal minute to get back to my apartment from the bar. I fumble for my keys in the dark, and once I’m in I head up the steps and crack open the fireball. The shot goes down bitey and leaves my chest burning, but not in a bad way. I pour myself a glass of wine.

Before I know it, hours have gone by. Now, I’m sitting alone in my dark bedroom and hoping my eyelids shut.

They don’t.

What an awful day. Truly terrible. And here I am, huddled on my bed under my fleece blanket, trying to hold it together. I’m not doing a great job.

I’ve never liked drinking alone. This is why.

I sob into my pillow and toss and turn the whole night.