79 words: Home on a Barstool

The flat, wooden bar top was scratched and dented from time and wear. The clinking of glasses and the scraping of chair legs against floorboards, a raucous symphony. Tight-lipped women sipped beer with steady hands while the staff flipped rocks glasses from dazzling heights, catching them behind sweaty backs. A man drank gin and pushed the worry about his empty apartment to the back of his mind. No one was alone in this place; no one was no one.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s