Drinks on the bar top
Ritual pending, inhibition erasure waiting in liquid form.
Eye contact. Smiles. Challenge Accepted.
Two glasses hit the bartop like a double gunshot.
I feel the stinging warmth, spreading up my throat and down into my gut.
I smile, teeth showing, into another face that may as well be a reflection.
I nod to the barman. More, I say.
Lets do this.
Lets see how it ends.
I’m used to the heat already.
Suddenly I see myself through the mirror and I’m talking without listening to myself.
My hands are waving around.
Waving. Like I’m desperate for the attention.
Maybe I am.
I’m listening and not listening, framing replies and discarding them.
Unspoken epiphanies vanish into the haze.
Every problem is solvable. We have the solution here.
This is the answer to everything.
Utopia and understanding in small glasses. With Lemon.
We have passed through the Singularity of Small Talk and into Truth.
Nothing is beyond us, nothing is unknowable.
We have sailed to distant seas and touched the Stars.
A Golden Age of Mankind Dawns.
We finish out of synch, the one-two hits like an inept tap dance as the glasses skitter.
I don’t even know why anymore.