Sparkling glasses and bottles ornamented the counter behind the bartenders. The steady stream of chatter was broken abruptly by the violent impact of the entrance door. An agitated patron staggers to the counter and drops himself hard into a seat by the bar counter. A couple sitting next to the man edge away cautiously. The bartender was busy with another clientele. A silver cocktail shaker danced with a bottle of Smirnoff from the bartenders fingers. The restless man demands a cold martini, to which the bartender smiles and nods, but continues mixing drinks for the preceding order. The man leans across the counter and reaches for the bartenders arm. The bartender lets out a soft gasp.
"Are you deaf? Where the hell's my drink!" steams the impatient patron. Bottle and glass come crashing to the ground. The rattle of the shaker echoes to a ringing silence. The bartender nods, but remains taciturn. The man tightens his grip around the bartender's arm. "Don't mess with me bi..." -- a course of blood jets from the man's nose as he's sent hurtling out of his seat. The crowd turns to the bloodied patron; then their attention falls on a gentleman who emerged from behind the counter. His hair thick and dark, stylishly messy. His jaw chiseled; sporting a five o'clock shadow. He develops a fresh cigarette from a pack of Marlboro.
"Did you tell our wonderful guest that you're not deaf, Navi?" jests the manager through an unlit cigarette. He wipes his hands with a cloth and slings it over his shoulder. The stillness of the room is disturbed by a metallic clink. The manager lifts a zippo lighter to his mouth and draws life into the faint ember. The barmaids giggle and get back to work as though nothing had happened. Looking down at a puzzle of splintered glass, Nav declined into a sigh.
The manager smirks and takes a quick drag from his cigarette. He walks over to the downed man, and pulls him outside by the shirt collar; blood branching down his sorry face. The manager props the dazed fellow against a lamp-post and takes another drag from his cigarette. "Sorry sir, it just so happens that we're dry out of vodka tonight. But you can always try your luck down at The Crown, it's only a couple blocks south of here. The Screwdriver and Bloody Mary are highly recommended."
The scent of cigarettes sedated the air as the manager walked calmly back inside.
"Are you deaf? Where the hell's my drink!" steams the impatient patron. Bottle and glass come crashing to the ground. The rattle of the shaker echoes to a ringing silence. The bartender nods, but remains taciturn. The man tightens his grip around the bartender's arm. "Don't mess with me bi..." -- a course of blood jets from the man's nose as he's sent hurtling out of his seat. The crowd turns to the bloodied patron; then their attention falls on a gentleman who emerged from behind the counter. His hair thick and dark, stylishly messy. His jaw chiseled; sporting a five o'clock shadow. He develops a fresh cigarette from a pack of Marlboro.
"Did you tell our wonderful guest that you're not deaf, Navi?" jests the manager through an unlit cigarette. He wipes his hands with a cloth and slings it over his shoulder. The stillness of the room is disturbed by a metallic clink. The manager lifts a zippo lighter to his mouth and draws life into the faint ember. The barmaids giggle and get back to work as though nothing had happened. Looking down at a puzzle of splintered glass, Nav declined into a sigh.
The manager smirks and takes a quick drag from his cigarette. He walks over to the downed man, and pulls him outside by the shirt collar; blood branching down his sorry face. The manager props the dazed fellow against a lamp-post and takes another drag from his cigarette. "Sorry sir, it just so happens that we're dry out of vodka tonight. But you can always try your luck down at The Crown, it's only a couple blocks south of here. The Screwdriver and Bloody Mary are highly recommended."
The scent of cigarettes sedated the air as the manager walked calmly back inside.
2 comments:
complaints? when did you get so cynical?! Finally a wee bit of writing. My comment - you start a ton of sentences with the word "The" I am not sure if that's intentional. I think it makes your writing a little choppy.
oh! i like the new black background!
I imagined I was behind a camera lens when I was writing this; and now that you mention it, the piece does sound choppy. I didn't do it on purpose, I just wanted to jot down as many ideas as quick as possible. I'm gonna be making some illustrations for this short piece too, so definitely check back for updates!
ps: a darker background makes it less painful to read/write during the early hours of the morning :]
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