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By: Leila He was noticeably overweight. His blond hair was stringy and so ruffled that it ceased to have the windswept or tumbled-out-of-bed look, but had more of a greasy, haven't-washed-my-hair-in-4-days effect. His blue eyes were filmy - the light vein color kind of blue - from, no doubt, the unrecognized brand name bottle that had never left his lips since he sat down at the bar. “Hey.” She thought that maybe she had jumped, made some sort of surprised reaction; an unconscious and instinctive jerk of her body, but the alcohol had dulled her nerves. “Hi,” she said slowly, fingering the tiny tequila glass. Had she even drank it? He slid onto the seat beside her, propping his elbows on the counter as he motioned at the bartender, “Eh, Jack Daniels on the rocks.” His favorite, she remembered. She was still staring in a morbid fascination at the guy two seats down from her, who was still staring at her with a doped up, drunk grin. Gross. Gross. “So, where is he?” the man beside her asked. She shrugged dully. “I would know because...” “I thought you guys were friends.” Friends? She thought so too. But friends didn't cross the friends line. Friends didn't do what he did. “Yeah, I thought so too,” she said, somewhat sleepily. She was tired. She hadn't even drunk that much. But she waved at the bartender and said, “A Corona.” ”Are you sure you should be drinking right now?” he asked, taking a leisurely sip from his own bottle. She tried to glare at him and make a sarcastic comment, but couldn't think of any. “He likes you, you know.” “No, he doesn't. He just thinks he does. Because I'm unreachable, that's what he thinks.” Her 'r's slurred a little. “He doesn't need me...he wants me. There's a difference.” “That's a little cold, don't you think?” He moved slightly and pushed up his long sleeves to reveal tattoos along his arms. “He makes mistakes, but I don't think he could make a mistake like this.” *“Huge ol’ mistake!” She corrected, teetering a little, in an attempt to reach over for the beer set down in front of her. “Fat mistake. Big...” Her eyes squinted. She could swear the bottle was moving. *“I see that.” He rested an arm against the bar counter as he studied her, at the same time not so inconspicuously moving her drink farther from her reach. “Maybe you should explain it to him.” *She frowned. That drink was definitely moving. “He knows.” Her beer bottle stopped its travels, and her fingers eagerly grasped for it. “And so do I.” *: Dialogue By: Jess Part
Seven: Moping
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