The lacquer was long worn off, and the wood paneling looked dusty and cracked, splinters splaying out.
A man with a busy brown-peppered mustache surveys his glass of whiskey, watching ice melt. It was the one thing that was meditative, the one thing he could flow into.
The distorted reflection of his face staring back at him–life continued; it didn’t matter what he did or didn’t do. Time would march forward, regardless.
Make a choice, deal with what happens next. Such is life. That is life.
All his anxieties and fears caught in his stomach, blocking his ability to swallow. He reached for the glass and took a generous gulp, and then he slumped back, exhaling.
The bartender pours him another round. The best time to do the thing is right now, brother. No time is going to be better than right now. The next best time? Right now.
He doesn’t make eye contact but he nods. He knows what needs to happen, what he needs to do.
The phone buzzes again; he flips it over to silence it. He slaps some bills on the bar and walks to the door. On the other side is a cotton candy sky, pinks, purples, and oranges sprayed out before him. It is a final peaceful scene—how many more of these would he get, he wondered.
He slowly steps toward his beat-up pick-em-up-truck, and he pulls out his phone, and taps the screen, her name pops up, with that photo of hers—he took it.
The phone rings, and a few more times it rings…
Hello? Tom?
Hey, Suzie… I got somethin’ to tell you, and it’s a lot.