Two Blue Hearts

I could hardly even smell the bar anymore.

I could hardly even smell the bar anymore-- the stench of beer, urine, and sweat had just sort of faded away after the third drink. My emotions, however, had not. Probably didn't help that I was one of those depressing drunks that starts sounding like Edgar Allen Poe after a couple beers. I nodded to the bartender and had him hand me another. I struggle to open the cap, stuck fast to the top of the glass bottle. What the fuck, is this thing superglued shut? A burly looking old man eyes me from the bar stool to my left. After a few more seconds of eyeing and me struggling, I finally just slam the bottle into the side of the counter and the top flies off and lands somewhere on the other side. The bartender doesn't notice, but the old guy continues to stare at me. I act like I don't feel his eyes staring right at me, and he looks away after what seems like an hour. I chug the beer as soon as he looks away.

The fact that I'd even made it this far without crying must have been a personal record for me, but I blame it on the football game playing on the TV above the bar distracting me. It wasn't even the game really, I wasn't even into football that much, but the constant slurred background chatter and the occasional outburst from everyone in the bar when one team or the other scored was giving me plenty to think about. How can people get this into a game? There are more important things to get passionate and upset about. People are dying overseas for our country, there are children starving in Africa, there are people with their heart broken debating on drinking themselves to death... God I'm such a depressing drunk. What was this, the.. 6th beer...? Hopefully I'm getting closer to the happy drunk I know resides within me, I'd successfully reached that state only 2 other times in my whole life. Once was on my 21st birthday and the other... Well, um, let's just not talk about that.

The huge crowd of drunk people surged as the team everyone seemed to be rooting for scored a touchdown. Some guy bumped into me and spilled beer on my arm. I shouldn't have been so surprised, a front row seat at the actual bar was where all the action was. It was best for forgetting things I didn't want to think about at the moment.

I apparently was not in my happy drunk phase because I muttered under my breath, "Fucking douche," and proceeded to dramatically shake my arm and glare at the guy.

"Oh god I'm so sorry!!" the guy flashed a bright white smile and quickly grabbed some napkins from a salt and pepper holder.

"But look!! We're winning-- first time this season!" He was a pretty well built guy, he had that perfectly tan skin and fucking nice ass facial hair. It connected his his sideburns down to his chin and looped over his lips. It was like the perfect amount of beard, too, almost a morning shadow but a bit longer. He had large, soft brown eyes, and messy black hair. He was as tall as me, which I'm considered to be a bit above average. Why the fuck do some people get all the good looks? This guy is literally the epitome of my ideal body and looks. It pissed me off. Definitely not a happy drunk yet.

"Woah woah woah, the shade is real," the asshole said, seeing my glare. "Let me buy you a beer, just to make it up to you since most of yours is soaked into your jacket," he chuckled and smiled warmly. This guy's teeth were too fucking perfect. I didn't say word, the beer he spilt wasn't even mine. God... Now I feel guilty. Just a tad.

The bartender hands him two beer and the guy pops the caps open with only his hands. What the hell? Is this guy a superhuman now, too? The flannel shirt he's wearing tightens a bit around the biceps. Yeah, of course, his arms are perfectly sized, especially compared to my twigs.

He offers one to me and I hesitate before taking it. I awkwardly take the beer, grazing his hand. I almost drop it on the floor. He laughs a bit with his perfect ass teeth.