Rhymer’s Blog on Life
| Lilli had gone home for the day, and I didn’t know who the new bartender was. Fyn departed, saying she had to go edit some works and destroy some dreams, and Annette had work from school, leaving me to my thoughts on this odd week. I had encountered Snoop Dogg through maybe a vision, and then a sock monkey threatened my soul if I didn’t give the thing bananas, and then a group of us found out about our kinda-friend, Teddy, who had claimed to have seen and been bailed out from jail by his deceased children. The week of Halloween had not been disappointing.
“May I have a drink? I asked the bartender. When he asked my choice, I shrugged my shoulders. After a couple of minutes, he produced a dark blue liquid in a martini glass. “Is this a martini?” I asked. He shrugged his shoulders.
I downed the drink, a concoction tasting of cotton-candy and vanilla with bitter undertones. After my body shook without my consent, I felt great for a moment. I looked around the room. Nothing untoward as of yet. Maybe this evening would go unlike the previous ones, maybe it would be a good night.
My body shook once more, and warmth spread all over my body, a cloud of self-righteousness holding me tight. My jaw clenched, and there was sweat on my forehead. I wanted to speak, to ask if this was normal, but I was afraid of how I would sound.
“Is it good?” the bartender asked.
I forced my lips together, pressing them so no words would come out. I didn’t know what I would say or how I would say it, but something was happening to my body with a speed I didn’t like. I’d drank lightly for years, and there was no way I was already drunk.
“I asked you how it was?” the bartended said as he pointed his forehead to the empty glass. “I call it ‘The Cynic Special’.”
“Honestly,” I said before I could realize it, “it’s not great, it’s not horrible, but I don’t know how you’d make it better.”
Oh, God! There it was! Cynicism! I was turning into a cynic!
“Oh yeah?” the bartender asked, a crook of a smile begining at the corner of his mouth. “What about the troops?”
“Don’t get me started on the troops. Ugh. Whether we got out back then or we get out now, we’re still in a well of financial dependence.” I clapped my hand to my mouth. I wanted to tell the bartender I wasn’t like this. I wanted to convey that I was a decent person, but I was afraid of what might come out next. I started to panic, so I slipped him 50,000 GPs and left the building. I would need to find a book and stay away from social media. That’s when the horror began.