Post by Ashley Wolfe on Jan 30, 2023 22:12:34 GMT -5
Ashley squinted down at his sloppy, smudged writing and tried (for the third time) to make sense of the incident notes he'd written half an hour ago. But the thirty minutes that "tired, cranky 10:53pm Ashley Wolfe" had over "wrecked, irritated 11:23pm Ashley Wolfe" seemed to play an important role in understanding the scribbled nonsense. "Oh... fuck it." Letting the pen drop from his fingers, he leaned back in his chair and scrubbed a hand through his hair, before bringing that hand down his face and scratching at the stubble upon his chin. Pushing from the floor with his feet, he rolled himself and his chair to the desk closest to his own and pulled open its top drawer. He didn't smoke — and neither did Mary anymore — but they both knew she still kept an "emergency" pack of cigarettes in the very back of her desk, hidden between her purple stapler and pink hole-punch.
As he found the pack and shut the drawer, Ashley rolled up a shirtsleeve to glance at the watch around his wrist. Still over two hours left until the bars cried last call. He'd lingered long enough — he'd scrubbed down and clocked out over forty-five minutes ago and was now just loitering in the offices out of boredom. He scribbled a quick "sorry for the cigs" on a sticky note, which he pressed to Mary's desk beside a ten-dollar bill, tidied up, and stepped from the retirement home and into the crisp, winter night. He lit the cigarette between his lips, took a pull as he tugged at the neck of his sweatshirt, and started his way down the sidewalk.
Tucked inside a residential area, the ten-block radius around his workplace consisted mostly of houses and apartments. The closest bar (and most of its drinks) were shit, but it would do for the night. He left his car in the employee parking lot in favor of a walk, choosing to meander through the neighborhood as he smoked and studied housefronts and yard decorations. A couple of houses still had Christmas decor up and the sight of them made him grin. A few dogs barked at his passing and he projected a sense of apologetic ease in their direction, hoping to soothe the restless pacing along their fencelines.
The cigarette was long finished by the time he made it out of the neighborhood and, by the time the bar came into view, the winter air nipping unkindly at his neck made him almost regret walking at all. Shrugging his shoulders close against the cold, he crossed an intersection and pushed through the front door. As he made his way to the bar, he scanned the room quickly and subtly; studying each face for anyone he knew. As frequently as he darkened the establishment, it wasn't uncommon to find a familiar drinking buddy entirely unprompted. Recognizing no one, he took a stool at the empty end of the bar and called for a drink.
The dinky establishment wasn't particularly busy but everyone within was in a different stage of the night. A lengthy outing had already whittled away the energy of a group of friends in one corner but laughter still bubbled from their direction and they weren't too spent to call for another round. An older couple danced in the middle of the floor — turning slow about chairs and tables and moving with the intimate grace and familiarity that came with years, possibly even decades, of knowing one another. Throughout the bar, younger pairs talked quietly among themselves; staring and smiling at one another across tables and over any number of empty glasses. And for every two couples, there was one person nursing a glass by themselves; looking a bit like Ashley was sure he looked at the moment.
Suddenly, the music shifted to a heavy, sad song, and he glanced toward the jukebox as the bartender set his glass before him. A man in a big coat, already fairly drunk, hobbled from the jukebox to take a seat right beside him and Ashley watched him inconspicuously as he took a pull from his glass. What was this guy's story? He considered asking but, for the moment, decided against it. He would let him at least have his song.
Mouthing along to the melancholic lyrics, Ash studied the frothy collar that clung to the lip of his first, quickly-emptied glass. Further down the bar, a pair of young lovers leaned closer, too absorbed in their own, blossoming attractions to be burdened by the gloomy gravity of the song or to consider the apparent heartache of their fellow patron who had spent a quarter or two to make its selection. He tried not to notice the woman's quiet giggles or the sad man's heaving shoulders as he silently sobbed, and only brushed the foam away with his thumb.
The song ended and the crying man's heaving shoulders stilled. When the bartender approached them and asked if he wanted another, Ashley lifted his gaze. "Yeah, thanks. And y’know what..." He tapped at the rim of his empty glass. "Bring me something a little stronger as well. Absolutely anything." He turned to the pile of a tattered man on his other side and gently prodded, "Hell, you need another one, bud?"
"Oh, don't worry about him," the bartender chuckled fondly, as he plucked the towel from his shoulder to wipe at the table where the man had spilled the last of his whisky, "Poor sap's usually all but dead by this time. I walk him home after closing every damn night. If I didn't, he'd probably end up face-down in a gutter."
Ashley nodded as he watched the man's back rise and fall with deep, slumbering breaths. "You gonna make sure I don't end up in a gutter tonight, too, Sam?" The bartender simply laughed with a shake of his head and Ashley feigned an offended scoff when he turned away to fetch his drinks. It would take a lot more than a well-intended barhop to keep him from the ditches one of these days.
As he found the pack and shut the drawer, Ashley rolled up a shirtsleeve to glance at the watch around his wrist. Still over two hours left until the bars cried last call. He'd lingered long enough — he'd scrubbed down and clocked out over forty-five minutes ago and was now just loitering in the offices out of boredom. He scribbled a quick "sorry for the cigs" on a sticky note, which he pressed to Mary's desk beside a ten-dollar bill, tidied up, and stepped from the retirement home and into the crisp, winter night. He lit the cigarette between his lips, took a pull as he tugged at the neck of his sweatshirt, and started his way down the sidewalk.
Tucked inside a residential area, the ten-block radius around his workplace consisted mostly of houses and apartments. The closest bar (and most of its drinks) were shit, but it would do for the night. He left his car in the employee parking lot in favor of a walk, choosing to meander through the neighborhood as he smoked and studied housefronts and yard decorations. A couple of houses still had Christmas decor up and the sight of them made him grin. A few dogs barked at his passing and he projected a sense of apologetic ease in their direction, hoping to soothe the restless pacing along their fencelines.
The cigarette was long finished by the time he made it out of the neighborhood and, by the time the bar came into view, the winter air nipping unkindly at his neck made him almost regret walking at all. Shrugging his shoulders close against the cold, he crossed an intersection and pushed through the front door. As he made his way to the bar, he scanned the room quickly and subtly; studying each face for anyone he knew. As frequently as he darkened the establishment, it wasn't uncommon to find a familiar drinking buddy entirely unprompted. Recognizing no one, he took a stool at the empty end of the bar and called for a drink.
The dinky establishment wasn't particularly busy but everyone within was in a different stage of the night. A lengthy outing had already whittled away the energy of a group of friends in one corner but laughter still bubbled from their direction and they weren't too spent to call for another round. An older couple danced in the middle of the floor — turning slow about chairs and tables and moving with the intimate grace and familiarity that came with years, possibly even decades, of knowing one another. Throughout the bar, younger pairs talked quietly among themselves; staring and smiling at one another across tables and over any number of empty glasses. And for every two couples, there was one person nursing a glass by themselves; looking a bit like Ashley was sure he looked at the moment.
Suddenly, the music shifted to a heavy, sad song, and he glanced toward the jukebox as the bartender set his glass before him. A man in a big coat, already fairly drunk, hobbled from the jukebox to take a seat right beside him and Ashley watched him inconspicuously as he took a pull from his glass. What was this guy's story? He considered asking but, for the moment, decided against it. He would let him at least have his song.
Mouthing along to the melancholic lyrics, Ash studied the frothy collar that clung to the lip of his first, quickly-emptied glass. Further down the bar, a pair of young lovers leaned closer, too absorbed in their own, blossoming attractions to be burdened by the gloomy gravity of the song or to consider the apparent heartache of their fellow patron who had spent a quarter or two to make its selection. He tried not to notice the woman's quiet giggles or the sad man's heaving shoulders as he silently sobbed, and only brushed the foam away with his thumb.
The song ended and the crying man's heaving shoulders stilled. When the bartender approached them and asked if he wanted another, Ashley lifted his gaze. "Yeah, thanks. And y’know what..." He tapped at the rim of his empty glass. "Bring me something a little stronger as well. Absolutely anything." He turned to the pile of a tattered man on his other side and gently prodded, "Hell, you need another one, bud?"
"Oh, don't worry about him," the bartender chuckled fondly, as he plucked the towel from his shoulder to wipe at the table where the man had spilled the last of his whisky, "Poor sap's usually all but dead by this time. I walk him home after closing every damn night. If I didn't, he'd probably end up face-down in a gutter."
Ashley nodded as he watched the man's back rise and fall with deep, slumbering breaths. "You gonna make sure I don't end up in a gutter tonight, too, Sam?" The bartender simply laughed with a shake of his head and Ashley feigned an offended scoff when he turned away to fetch his drinks. It would take a lot more than a well-intended barhop to keep him from the ditches one of these days.
