bit o' fiction
Booted feet dangled off the stool, tapping an unsteady rhythm against aged wood. He rested his elbows on the bar, hands on cheeks, supporting his head, sporting a few days' stubble along chin and scalp. His clothes were wrinkled, worn, and wet, looked as if he had been wearing them since his last shave. Eyes red, like he had last slept around the same time. The man cleared his throat. "Hey. Another, if ya don't mind."
"Sure thing, hun," the woman behind the counter said. Like most of the people the man had met recently, she was tall and slender, almost unnervingly so. He coughed, stopped staring. Glass bottles clinked as she produced the gin, poured it over ice, added a short squirt of fizzling water. "That'll be ten," she said, expectantly.
He unfolded a pair of five-euro notes, added a single and slid them across the bar. "Cheers." The man took a sip of his gin and tonic. Was this five, or six? He'd lost count.
The barkeep took the money. "Not fooling around today, huh?" she asked.
"It's the damn rain," he muttered, rubbing his eyes, "Keeps pounding on my fucking roof-can't get a moment's rest. I'm a-" he choked down another healthy swallow, coughed, and continued, "really light sleeper."
She nodded, sympathetic. "So you're trying to drink yourself unconscious. More fun than a sleeping pill, I guess."
"You know what they put in those? I sure as fuck don't. Don't trust that crap," he said, draining the rest of his glass. He glanced out the tiny, tobacco-stained window on the front of the bar. Rain pattered softly outside, a moderate drizzle-hardly the torrent he had braved to get here. He jerked a thumb towards the entrance. "That shit ever let up?"
She frowned. "You new in town, huh?"
"Uh, yeah. Made landfall 'bout a week ago."
Shapely, if a bit overly-thin shoulders shrugged. "This far out from city center, not really. Gets a bit better in the summer months, but never completely stops. You get used to it."
The man scoffed, fishing in a coat pocket. One cigarette left, thank God. He put it to his lips, then patted himself down. "Hey, you got a, uh," he pantomimed flicking a lighter.
She nodded, pulled a thin rectangle of metal from a pants pocket, tapped it to the paper tube extending from his pursed lips. The cigarette obligingly lit, a thin waft of smoke emanating from the tip.
"Thanks," he said, taking a long drag. He tried to think of some way to continue the conversation, but a haze of too much gin and too little sleep spread over his thoughts. He settled with looking at her ass next time she turned around.
Outside, the rain, as if waking from a light nap, rallied itself, pounding harder upon the little bar. Pedestrians scurried from the exposed streets into open doorways and overhangs. Groundcars hummed along, waste steam from exhaust vents mingling with raindrops; huge metal beasts panting in the cold air. A few turned off of 200th avenue, moving towards the city center and away from the incessant rain. As the clouds peeled away, the sky became visible-pale gold and burgundy, struck through with a nigh-invisible grid of monofilament wires and sheets of molecule-thick transparent carbon. Like a children's baloon, stretched taut with a tiny bubble of air over Cydonia City.
The bartender glanced over her shoulder at the man, her only patron at the time. His head rested gently on the polished wood of the bar, his back rose and fell slowly. She shrugged, gingerly plucked the still smoldering cigarette from his lips, took a drag.
"Sure thing, hun," the woman behind the counter said. Like most of the people the man had met recently, she was tall and slender, almost unnervingly so. He coughed, stopped staring. Glass bottles clinked as she produced the gin, poured it over ice, added a short squirt of fizzling water. "That'll be ten," she said, expectantly.
He unfolded a pair of five-euro notes, added a single and slid them across the bar. "Cheers." The man took a sip of his gin and tonic. Was this five, or six? He'd lost count.
The barkeep took the money. "Not fooling around today, huh?" she asked.
"It's the damn rain," he muttered, rubbing his eyes, "Keeps pounding on my fucking roof-can't get a moment's rest. I'm a-" he choked down another healthy swallow, coughed, and continued, "really light sleeper."
She nodded, sympathetic. "So you're trying to drink yourself unconscious. More fun than a sleeping pill, I guess."
"You know what they put in those? I sure as fuck don't. Don't trust that crap," he said, draining the rest of his glass. He glanced out the tiny, tobacco-stained window on the front of the bar. Rain pattered softly outside, a moderate drizzle-hardly the torrent he had braved to get here. He jerked a thumb towards the entrance. "That shit ever let up?"
She frowned. "You new in town, huh?"
"Uh, yeah. Made landfall 'bout a week ago."
Shapely, if a bit overly-thin shoulders shrugged. "This far out from city center, not really. Gets a bit better in the summer months, but never completely stops. You get used to it."
The man scoffed, fishing in a coat pocket. One cigarette left, thank God. He put it to his lips, then patted himself down. "Hey, you got a, uh," he pantomimed flicking a lighter.
She nodded, pulled a thin rectangle of metal from a pants pocket, tapped it to the paper tube extending from his pursed lips. The cigarette obligingly lit, a thin waft of smoke emanating from the tip.
"Thanks," he said, taking a long drag. He tried to think of some way to continue the conversation, but a haze of too much gin and too little sleep spread over his thoughts. He settled with looking at her ass next time she turned around.
Outside, the rain, as if waking from a light nap, rallied itself, pounding harder upon the little bar. Pedestrians scurried from the exposed streets into open doorways and overhangs. Groundcars hummed along, waste steam from exhaust vents mingling with raindrops; huge metal beasts panting in the cold air. A few turned off of 200th avenue, moving towards the city center and away from the incessant rain. As the clouds peeled away, the sky became visible-pale gold and burgundy, struck through with a nigh-invisible grid of monofilament wires and sheets of molecule-thick transparent carbon. Like a children's baloon, stretched taut with a tiny bubble of air over Cydonia City.
The bartender glanced over her shoulder at the man, her only patron at the time. His head rested gently on the polished wood of the bar, his back rose and fell slowly. She shrugged, gingerly plucked the still smoldering cigarette from his lips, took a drag.