Traffic

Part 1

One man at the end of the bar. By himself. News paper held in front of his face, and a single cigarette in his hand having the smoke run up to the already black soot colored ceiling of the bar. I took a rag to the granite counter top as if I could actually wash away to smell of alcohol, drunks, and tears. Counting how many people here left this place with complete strangers, I'm always amazed that I see half of them the next day sitting at the same spot at the bar and ordering the same exact drink. But this man. This man has hardly showed his face let alone said a word to order a ounce of booze. It's as if he came in the bar just to smoke

his cigarette or to hide from his wife.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" I used the fact that I was cleaning the bar off near him to actually ask him a question. "Sir?"

"And another football player in the court house."

He out down the paper so I could see his face. Young. 30 at the most with perfectly straight white teeth even for a smoker.

"And what team?"

He laughed, amused that I was actually intrigued. "Our very own Giants. And I'll take a shot of your finest bourbon."

I grab two glasses. One for me and one for him setting them down and he really didn't seem to mind that he might be paying for mine, too. Just happening to grab the most expensive bourbon we have, I leveled off both glasses sliding him one and taking the other for myself.

"Now tell why is your father letting you work in a bar?"

After that, I chugged my glass letting it burn the back of my throat.

"If my father was any good, I wouldn't be working here."

He grinned as if my answer seemed to please him. I went ahead and poured myself another glass before putting the bottle away, not caring about the other people at the bar. "Besides, your not married and your attractive, so I don't know why your at a bar on this side of the Bronx."

He chucked again. "It's rather a long story. And the girl with a southern drawl is asking why I'm here?"

"That's an even longer story."

"Ma'am, vodka on the rocks." Someone said from the bar as I excused myself from the man to get the guy his drink before telling everyone it was last call.

"When do you close?" I looked on my wrist to see it was already 1 in the morning.

"An hour ago." There was only one more person at the bar as I grabbed my old glass chugging it down once again trying to forget about where I live and work. And how I'm basically garbage. When I looked back up, I grew dizzy as my legs buckled from under me and I held onto the counter trying to balance as the guy stood and smiled.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

For some reason, I answered. "Kelsey Guidry."

He jumped over the bar. Lifting me up aggressively in his arms, I was to weak to fight back when he walked out the door unseen with the other man helping him stuff me in the trunk.