A conversation in a bar.
On barstools.
An alcoholic.
She live at the bar.
She lives in a bar.
She’s homeless.
So she lives upstairs.
I came in to steady my nerves.
Not that I need it all the time like you said you do.
You said you need it every day.
I only need one.
I need one today.
Not like you.
You need it all the time.
I don’t.
They sat on their barstools not really staring at each other but staring around at things behind the other then at them then away.
What are you looking at?
I’m looking at you.
No you aren’t.
Yes, I wasn’t.
You looking at me?
What you looking at?
I’m not looking at you.
Well you should be.
Not that he wanted to.
She didn’t want to.
He didn’t want to.
He didn’t like it.
It was still night-time.
It’s closing time.
She had a drink.
He finished up.
The door opened.
She stayed.
He got up.
Having another?
No I’m not.
I don’t want to.
Why not.
You’re meant to.
Help yourself.
He looked at her again.
She was there all the time.
Drinking.
It’s closing time.
I’m not leaving yet.
We’re meant to.
It’s a bar.
I’m going home.
I’m not.
She has no home.
She lives upstairs.
In a bar.
He only had one.
it’s got that round and round and hardly going anywhere vibe of constant drinking