Drinking Alone


This one is actually non-fiction.

Drinking Alone

I found myself perched at the a suitably gloomy end of the bar with just some greasy trays and a crumpled, half-done celebrity crossword for company. I sat there wishing I was a whisky drinker, it would look a hell of a lot more sophisticated to stare into the bottom of a tumbler of single malt than a highball of Baileys, swishing the creamy liquid around the glass and listening to the ice cubes chink.

Further to my left there was karaoke – somebody doing ‘My Way’ very much their own way. To my right a wizard like figure danced gleefully in the orange glow of the fruit machine. Ficklely I longed for the minutes to spin away faster so this rotten night could end yet at the same time urged them vehemently to drag by a little slower as is the inevitable call of closing time approached and I drew a blank about where I could go next.

I removed my glasses, partially to try and look a little more handsome, though I don’t know to whom, but more just to help blur everything out a little more. What does it say about a man who’ll put his morals and standards so far above his friends as to risk total alienation? Is that something to be striven towards or fled away from? Is it better to be alone and right or in the company of friends but knowing you sold out?

The lights go up and one of the barmaids bellows that closing time has arrived. I down the remainder of my drink, again aware of the lack of drama that a firey whisky would have delivered, turn up my coat lapels and head out to embrace the cold night air.

Title image courtesy jburgin

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Published in: on June 13, 2010 at 9:49 PM  Leave a Comment  
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