In Vino Veritas · 8:02am Nov 25th, 2013

There are a few places in this world that make one feel like they've stepped into an old movie. This bar was one of them. Uncomfortable stool, stained counter, bottle rack, dirty mirror, guy behind the counter in a tattered vest wiping down a glass with a dirty rag. There was a guy, over in the corner, wearing a fedora and a trench coat, smoking a cigarette, and a girl, pretty thing, sitting at the counter with some kind of poison in her glass. Straight out of a film noir. Whatever. They weren't bothering me. Guy in the corner's too busy thinking about some murder. Girl at the counter's drinking her poison, then putting the glass down. Don't cry, girl. That's the last thing I need: come into a bar like this and watch someone cry as they kill themselves. Do it in silence like everyone else. Stupid girl. Stupid damn girl. I've had my fill of stupid damn girls for the day.
World's full of them: the stupid damn girls. Plenty of stupid damn boys, too. Stupid damn people. Not that I'm judging. Can't judge. Let he who has not sinned cast the first stone. Then they all put the rocks down. Bullshit. Who the hell'd put the rocks down after that? Put all the effort at picking them up in the first place, who isn't gonna throw it just because they've sinned or something? Can't judge? Sinners judge all the damn time. Stupid damn judges.
"Single-malt, on the rocks."
My stone slid along the counter. That's years of practice, getting it to stop right there. Not even a drop on the counter. I'd tip the guy later. If I remembered. Coaster came to a stop right next to the poison. Jackass. Girl at the counter doesn't have a coaster. Hell, she'd not even there anymore. Where'd she get off to? Pretty thing. Like it matters. The drink came up. It didn't come down until just the rocks were there. Tap the counter. "Another." Tattered vest nodded, dirtying the mug a bit more. Good guy. Doesn't talk, doesn't throw stones. Like he can; damn guy's been throwing poison for years. I'll tip him later. If I remember.
"Single-malt, neat."
Good guy. Doesn't even throw rocks anymore. Don't throw rocks in glass houses. I don't even know what that crap means. I thought I knew. Stupid damn girl tried to explain it to me and I thought I knew. But I don't. Who the hell'd live in a glass house anyway? Stupid damn thing to do. And throw a rock? Why the hell would you throw a rock at it? Get out of the damn house first, then throw your rock if you can still pick it up. Where the hell did that drink go? Up. It went up. Then its glass house came back down. Tap the counter. "One more."
Lost my drink. The hell's wrong with me? Damn thing doesn't move. Put the glass on the coaster, so that I don't lose it. Where'd the coaster go? Other side? I hate when things that shouldn't move start moving. Nothing good comes out of that. Rocks start throwing themselves. Poison slides by itself. Tattered vest'd be out of a job. Shame. Doing a pretty good job. If he'd get me my next one.
What'd he say? He said something. Look, a new drink. I tried to bring it up, missed. Tried again. Missed. Damn thing won't stay still. I hate that. What was that guy's name? Tentacles or something. I get that guy. Has to stand right above his drink and right below his food but the damn thing keeps moving. Maybe the rocks make it heavy. Hard to pick up a rock. That's another guy. Sissyfish or something. Tries to pick up his rock, but has to put it back down again. Hard to keep the damn thing up when you're a sinner and some guy's telling you to put your rock down. Just throw the damn thing. Ain't gonna get work done by just putting the damn thing down again. Gotta throw it. Finish what you started.
The poison went up, then down into me. Glass went down. Tap the counter. Shit, that hurt. Didn't hurt the last few times. Whatever. "Another." Door opened, bit of sunlight came in. A girl came in. She shouldn't be anywhere around here. Stupid damn girl. She wouldn't come here without a reason. Damn detective movie.
Girl was talking to tattered vest. She handed over a bit of cash. I felt something tug on me. I wasn't on the stool. "Put me down, damn it."
"Come on, we need to get you out of her."
Stupid damn girl. Her damn voice. "Leave me alone. I can get home without ya."
"You're drunk."
"No shit? Let go of me."
"I'm not letting you go. I'm getting you home, even if I have to throw you into your bed."
"Damn girl. I don' want this crap."
"Stop lying."
"Not lying."
Damn girl made a noise. Snorting type of thing. Everything got a little bit darker. Then I wasn't standing and I felt something soft against my back. Something warm went over me. I couldn't move. I didn't want to move. Something kept hitting the ground, dull thud and then another one. She was walking away. "Stop. Please. Stop"
The thuds stopped. "... I'll be outside. In the living room. When you're actually well enough to talk. Goodnight, Vinyl."
I tried to get up. Couldn't. The blankets were too heavy. "Stop. Tavi."
"Goodnight, Vinyl. I'll be right outside."
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... What did I just do? You know what it is? I've been studying World War I for the past couple of months and all of the Modernism is finally getting to me. Well, whatever. Here's a thing where I say damn a lot and stuff. Just for you followers who actually read my blogs. Because you're awesome