The Thirteenth Union: Prelusion

Chapter Six: Blatant Ignorance

Friday night, I chided myself. Why a Friday night? Why a Friday night when the sailors were in and getting drunk and looking for someone to take back to their apartment? You've got to be kidding yourself, Maria.

Clutching the strap of my laptop bag that rested weightily against my hip did not help me feel comfortable. I quickly located a semi-empty booth in the back corner, void of loose-lipped men and scavenging women. The bar was crowded with customers sipping amber liquids of various shades from glass cups.

I shouldered my way past the clusters of conversation, slipping awkwardly through small breaks in the crowd until I found the somewhat quiet corner with a layer of dusty silence covering the leather booth. I slipped into the corner, making sure to face every inch of the establishment. I needed a good view for good descriptions.

This wasn't a normal place for me to find myself associating myself with. Other than the fact that I thought this place was a rundown, C+ average on the health and cleanliness scale, I found myself always shying away from overly crowded public spaces: the subway, the mall on Saturday, Wal-Mart after rush-hour, and big cities in general. I was a best-selling author, selling hundred of books every fifteen minutes. That came with a small amount of fame in the job description. You'd be curious to why I couldn't interact in a public space by myself.

The only reason I was here was to form a real, genuine idea about what a bar would be like in the evening. Seeing as I didn't drink, nor did any of my friends-what little friends I had-I didn't really know for myself. Watching movies is one thing-those are just actors-but real life is never what it's like in the theater or on a disk. It was breathtaking and quick, something to be loved and lived with long-lasting memories and experiences.

I was a desk-filler in the FBI. I wrote reports and typed up files, and jumped aimlessly up through the social ranks with hope to gain a promotion. It was a slow process, but someday I would be a field agent and I would be content with my life. But, for now, I just needed this one little experience typed into a word document for my moonlighting career.

Just for good measure, I pulled my hood up over my head, trying to hide my face as much as possible. Slims and straights were the only pants I own, so I couldn't get away with showing my femininity. The large sweatshirt was a plus; it hid my figure and concealed my chest. I wasn't looking for attention tonight. Attention wasn't even what I wanted. Most girls went places to be seen; I went places to learn, to observe, and to comprehend.

"The heated crowd boiled with lusty sensations. Their voices stirred together in a melting pot of syllables and vowels. Laughs floated through the air, mating with the music in harmony. The soft lull of saxophone drifted over the raging intervals of chuckles and sarcastic one-liners, gathering in my ears to soothe the cacophonous racket. The sailors were having a particularly good night. Uniforms leaned comfortably against the bar, chatting with women and joking with their shipmates; they gunned down shot after shot, exotic booze after smoky bottle of beer, burping and guffawing with their sobriety sheltered into the backs of their minds..."

Ten minutes had past. The heat in here was making me sweat. I pulled down my hood and fluffed the hair off of my neck. A thin film of moisture stuck to my palms. I wiped my hands on the thighs of my black jeans and returned back to my work, abandoning the hood.

"A man kissed his girlfriend in the corner, teasing her lips with a little nip. I could feel the bile tickle my throat. I almost looked away, but three able-bodied men strode in front of my vision, moving to the booth beside me to rejoin their buddies. A chorus of cheers reigned down on my ears when a black tray of nachos was brought over by one of the bartenders. He looked ready to turn in for the night, but it was only nine at night. Longer hours remained. And, judging by the looks of the line at the front door, I didn't imagine that they intended to get closed at two like the sign out front promised..."