The Summer Night blues

He opened that heavy door for the thousandth time of his life. He walked to the counter where he sat alone on a stool. God knows how many times he had seen this place with the sun rays crossing the large window of Phillies, the small but warm hand of his wife touching his...
He watched around him, looked for everything and anything, but staring into space at the same time. His eyesight became blurred and suddenly, his mind picked a random memory for him like a roulette might pick black or red. Everything stopped. He could not tell why. Maybe because that memory was so simple but so meaningful at the same time. Why this one would be that meaningful you certainly would ask. He would not even be able to give a proper answer. That memory was meaningful because it was not special. Not special at all. No birthdays. No special events. Her presence was enough to make that memory a strong one. Her presence, her white and pinky skin contrasting her red lips, and her red hair was enough to get him back on the right track- in a way. Oh, that beautiful pink dress was fitting her soft skin like a glove. He was enjoying every touch, every smell he could remember of. She was holding a bill, thinking about another coffee while his cigarette was burning. Her perfume was outshining the harsh smell of the place where cigarettes and cigars are more smoked than coffees and teas are drunk. Observing these futilities, he passively realized that time does not fly, it crashes.

He was stirring his whiskey; the ice cubes were slowly melting until they faded into the brown liquor. He drank it, from time to time, letting the water of life burn down his throat. They liked the place a lot and that may explain why he is here alone tonight. He had already paid four glasses and was about to ask for another when the brand-new jukebox in the right corner played the new hit from the Beach Boys. The song read his mind as he thought 'I wonder what I'm a gonna do' and the song finished the sentence for him in a distant whisper in the background 'there ain't no cure for the summertime blues'.
But our character was facing way more than a sweet summertime blues and he was not really into sarcasm for now. And for a good reason: he was feeling blue. We could not even define the color of his heart on that summer night; no one is really able to describe a color of something that is empty.

He felt like a child. A little boy left alone in front of a cereal box, watching the games on the back of the box with a pencil in his left hand and trying to find the good pathway to reach the treasure. But that game was not funny. He was not a little boy anymore. And there was no pathway to his precious treasure anymore.
For a second, he seriously tried to put words on what was going through his body. But no words could describe it, but pain. The pain was so intense that it carried off everything that seemed normal around him. It was like his whole body was screaming from the inside, tearing up each and every muscle, scratching all of his stomach. He could almost taste the bitterness of the blood, the taste of sadness on his tongue. He could see the rose but only feel its thorns.
He wondered once again "what I'm gonna do' but never found any answer.

He closed the heavy door, for what he hoped to be the last time and left behind him the most living memory of his dead wife.