The bar is pretty empty, only like 10 or 12 people are here.
I want to leave, maybe tell Lisa I'm not feeling good, but I need the pay.
Four hours till 2am, this is going to be a long night.
I wish Alex had a game tonight so that I could change the channel on the bar tv and watch him play to pass the time, but today is his day off, he plays again tomorrow.
At about 11:45pm a bunch of guys - maybe in their mid thirties - roll in.
They seem drunk before they even order anything.
Refilling and pouring fresh drinks isn't a very good way to keep my mind off of Alex.
All I can think about is the night he came here with his teammates. We talked and talked for hours, it seems like only a few days ago, oh wait, that's because it was only a few days ago.
Then I start thinking something I've though a million times during the past few days: am I making the right choice?
I've only known Alex for about a week and we've already fucked twice and said "I love you."
But then again you can't really bound things like this with time standards.
Yeah we're moving fast, like really, really fast, but that doesn't mean it's any less genuine, right?
Alex could very well be the guy I spend the rest of my life with, even if he decides to pop the question in a month!
(Yeah that's probably not going to happen, but still)
I've said this to myself before, and I'll say it a million times:
It is real.
Finally things start getting interesting when two of the guys start arguing.
I think it's about sports,
"What the fuck are you talking about? He's a way better fucking player!"
"Do you know anything? Have you watched his last couple games? He sucks ass!"
Then the punches start flying, and I rush over to try to pull them off of each other.
Some of the more sober guys are trying to help me; I grab one guy, they grab the other, and we all pull, but it ends in us all falling, and me getting nailed in the nose with a punch.
I kick who ever has fallen on me, off and quickly bring my hands to my face.
The pain in my nose is sharp, and when I pull my fingers away, blood covers them.
One of the sober guys (sober in relation to the ones fighting who are drunk as hell), notices and starts apologizing frantically.
He comes up to me and asks if I think my nose is broken,
"I don't fucking know!" Is all I say as I wince and try to wipe the blood, that seems to be pouring out, with my fingers.
"Ow ow ow ow ow ow," I use my free hand to help myself stand up.
The two guys who were fighting now lay on the floor, basking in their drunkness.
The guys have now made a circle around me, and some other patrons have started to watch the spectacle.
"Lisa!" I cry, while walking up to the cash register in the front of the bar.
She wasn't watching the fight, she never usually does watch bar fights, because Lisa always counts on me to handle them.
