the weird chick


February 7th, 2010

He sits in the bar, looking down as he sips his drink. The lights are dim, as they usually are, and clouds of illicit smoke hover at eye level. To his left sits a fat, balding man, taking the occasional swig from a pint of beer. To his right, an underweight woman with dirty hair and smudged makeup tries to sip her daiquiri in a classy fashion, all the while looking like a fired stripper. The man moves his glass, swirling around the drink inside.

The woman is lonely. Her feet swing lightly off the barstool, the stiletto heels tapping the legs. She drinks some more. Her shoes are red, the heels and small platform made of cork. He turns his eyes back to his drink briefly as he finishes it, asking the bartender for a refill. He turns his attention back to the woman. Her hair is tied back – an attempt to hide the mats and knots – and her clothes are ill-fitting and slightly torn. Her shoes have an open toe, and surprisingly, her nails are well-kept and polished. He stares discreetly for a bit, before apprehensively turning his attention to her face.