Well, We're Not Alone Now - Book One - Alex Turner

Well, We're Not Alone Now

-Well, We're Not Alone Now-

"Leather jacket, collor popped like antenna,

Never knowing when to stop,

Sunglasses indoors, par for the course"

- 17th December 2011-

The glass seemed to fall in slow motion, the smash drowned out by the noise of the pub. It shattered into a ridiculous amount of pieces on the stone floor. It was the usual situation; drunk men and women writhing around with no spatial awareness whatsoever. Arms, arses and legs flying everywhere, knocking everything over in their unstable paths. I couldn't condemn them though, as I had been doing the very same thing the night before and had paid for it this morning. And here I was again, not even drinking this time, just simply people watching.

When I realised that no one was going to clear up the glass, or had even noticed it's demise, I grabbed my bag and rose from my seat. Walking over to where I had glimpsed a dust pan and brush earlier, because I am just one of those girls who notices that stuff, wedged up behind a chair, next to a green door that said 'Staff Only'. Pushing past the sweaty bodies, I cast a sly glance at one of the men who was sitting at the bar, shades covering what I knew to be beautiful brown eyes. He was hunched over his drink, brown partly slicked back hair glowing in the dim lights. I wouldn't say I was the sort of girl who would freak out if a 'celebrity' suddenly walked into a bar I was inhabiting, however I am not ashamed to admit that I am definitely the sort of girl who walks past them a few times just so I can make sure they are actually real and not a figment of my imagination. Hence my helpfulness in cleaning up the glass. The route to collect the dust pan and brush took me right past the bar where Alex Turner, lead singer of the Arctic Monkeys, was sitting.

As I glided back, or at least I hoped it looked like I was gliding, I took another glance at Alex to see he had taken off his shades and was staring moodily at the drinks on the other side of the bar, rubbing his bottom lip. No one should be allowed to look that damn good. I laughed quietly at my own thoughts. Quick as I could, I brushed up the glass, shoving many a sticky body away from the sparkling pile of sharpness as I did so. Did I mention that these people have no awareness of their own bodies, let alone somebody trying to clear up the glass? I think I did. Nervously, I made my way to the bar, trying not to be shoved over by the dancers. Seeing that a stool next to Alex had just been vacated by some girl who had been trying to chat him up, I headed for it. I admired her nerve, for if anybody had any sensibility they could see that this man didn't wished to be approached. However at this point in the evening sensibility had deserted the girl, and it seemed me also. Since sensibility had left me, I was left to try and act cool. This was something that I found hard to do, as I was someone who succumbed to being extremely quiet when faced with someone I didn't know. I assure you there is a difference between being cool and aloof, and just being quiet and withdrawn.

This being my usual alcoholic haunt I was known to the staff here and to my relief my favourite barman, Sid, was at the counter sliding Alex some dark looking drink. Many a time he had saved me from unwanted advances, given me some what interesting advice and had generally been someone who you could have a good laugh with. Looking up, wiping his slightly greasy floppy hair out of his eyes, he saw me and smiled, then frowned when he saw what I was carrying. This movement and interesting facial expressions made Alex turn his head and look at me. Surprisingly my face became hot and I was too nervous to meet his eyes, so I stayed looking at Sid. Sliding onto the barstool next to frontman, I thrust the dust pan and brush towards the small barman's waiting hands.