Forlorn Fellow

June 17, 2016

A man walked into a bar. There was festive jazz music playing. The man slid into his seat and ordered a c***tail. Suddenly, the man wasn’t feeling very festive anymore. In a corner of the bar, by the window was a forlorn-looking soul with black eyes and blue hair. The man cursed under his breath and walked over to the strange fellow. “Sorry,” he says. “Do you need help?”
The fellow turned eyes up toward him. “That depends on what kind of help you mean.”
“I mean, you know, do you need some money? I can buy you a drink, if you…”
“I don’t drink.”
He didn’t drink? “But you’re at a bar.”
“Yes.” The fellow looked around, as if realizing that for the first time. “So I am. I always have the Diet Coke with lime. This is where I met the love of my life. This place used to be so festive. Now look at it.”
The man did. The bar still looked festive. He didn’t see what the problem was.
“How do you think I got these?” the fellow said and lifted his puffy purple lids to show the man bloodshot eyes.
“Whoa.” The man drew back. “I honestly thought you just bunged your head on the table. But your own girl did that to you? That sucks.”
The festive music continued to blare.
“Boy,” the fellow said.
“Boy. I knew it. Not that I could tell from your hair, but I could’ve guessed. I mean I couldn't have guessed. I mean… oh God.” The man blustered out of the restaurant in a hurry, kicking himself. As the festive music drew to a close, the fellow with the blue hair and black eyes picked up his phone. “Yes?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at our bar. Don’t worry, Julie, I’m coming home.”






Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback