Rum and Coke, Vodka and Tonic

I'm stumbling through wicked writer's block...

We were at a dive bar. There were two sets of friends who didn't know each other and despite this fact I couldn't be the bridge between them. Eventually I didn't need to be. I sat and watched them talk, watched them listen.

Des and C. were there. They came all the way from Brooklyn to sit in this loud place with me and people they didn't know. To sit and chat on the upper-upper westside when they would have preferred the lower east. I vowed next time to travel to where ever they told me to go. I so owe them.

For a spell I'd been fluttery, talky robin, but my thoughts were on my struggle from earlier in the day to right a wrong, awkwardly attempted, failed and spent. My emotions were listing to one side and finally I let them lay.

I leaned into the booth and watched as A. told stories, about what? I don't know. It didn't matter because what I cared about most was being with them. Near enough to feel their life, their presence rub against mine.

By the way Des, love C. He rocks.