18.

I've never been very spiritual and it's coming back to bite me in the ass right now. My chanting prayer has failed me and the asshat takes the stool next to me. Upon closer inspection he's also rocking the patchiest goatee in the history of facial hair and a trashy little gold chain. I realize I'm being a bit of a asshole judging him, especially considering my current appearance but I'm fairly certain this tool's look isn't so much out of necessity but rather he thinks he looks pretty fly. He's also got a classy wife beater on underneath his far too shiny satin jacket. He hasn't said a word to me but I can tell he's just intentionally waiting to say something so it doesn't look like he just came over here to talk to me. I'm considering pounding my drink and running out the door to avoid this mess of a man, but I'm feeling a little bad for this guy now. I also really wanted at least another drink, regardless of how bad they are, two fifty is a pretty stellar deal. Michael Jackson's "Human Nature" comes on and just as that major key tonality starts up so does this guy. As if they rehearsed to start out in sync. "You know what sucks buddy?" Christ, I'm apparently his buddy already. "Women. Beating you down for every little thing. Trying to make me feel like I'm not a man! Fucking bitches buddy. All of them." I'm caught at the weird point of feeling pity and feeling uncomfortable. I really don't wanna sit here and list to some sexist bullshit. It's obvious he's seeking some sort of validation so I offer up a, "Oh yeah, I hear that". I'm hoping the bare minimum will satisfy his emotional need from strangers but I'm not so lucky. "Oh I'm sure you know what I mean man, you look like a straight shooter but you ain't ever experienced the shit I have. Queen Bitch I got back waiting for me. Man, she's the worst." The minute his mouth opened again I considered acting fucking crazy again to try and scare him off like I had the clerk, but beneath his trashy sexist vernacular there is a sort of sad sincerity about him. I don't know his story and getting past any assumptions I made about this man I don't know a thing about him. I can't say if he's full of shit or sincere, but I don't doubt his pain. There is a kind of tranquil emptiness behind his eyes that is genuine. His eagerness to complain to anyone seems to have been quelled and he's simply left alone with whatever somber thoughts he's having. I finish my drink and order another for myself and give into guilt and order him one too. His eyes lighten up and he sits up a little. He turns toward me and it looks as if, just for a second, that a little bit of that vast emptiness rescinds. He gives me a small smile that's almost endearing. He extends his glass to cheer and I accept. I never thought I would have had a connection with some random sexist piece of shit at a bar at 11 in the morning. Hmm maybe this is my life now. I sit and have my drink with him and I tell him all about those who have shit on my heart and what a fucking number they have done on me, but I also try to explain that it goes both ways. Breaking hearts is gender neutral buddy. He's drunk and dumb and it's obvious he doesn't entirely get what I'm saying but I see a little bit more of that bleakness retreat and I'm happy I could help.