Skippy

Drinks for One

 I slouched in the bar booth, the dim red lights shined in my eyes uncomfortably. John was off somewhere, I don't even know where the hell he went actually.

I sipped at the Jack Daniel's I had been served. This was the 8th glass.

I sighed, setting it down. I rummaged around in my pocket. I grabbed the cigarette box, ripping off the stupid plastic wrapping, completely ignoring the warnings written all over it.

I grabbed the shitty galaxy lighter John gave me on my birthday a while back, I placed the cigarette into my mouth and lit it. I inhaled, exhaling out all of my worries with the smoke.

I was wasted as fuck, yet everything felt normal. The warmth of the smoke heated my face.

A man walked inside, the door ring-thing being annoying as he entered. The man walked straight to me, oddly enough, and sat down. I glared at his messy brown, greasy hair. I glanced back down, making heavy eye contact. I glowered.

"Nora, Walsh sent me here, he needs something." The man said out of the corner of his mouth, with a big ass New York accent slapped atop of it.

"What would Johnny need besides a smack in the ass?" I chuckled, my speech was slurred, I didn't give a flying fuck.

"Listen, Voss, this is serious."

I clenched my fists in a: "oh shit this is bad" posture, he was being solemn, something isn't right.

"Hit me with it," I said, trying to make a pun as I took a drag from the cigarette.

"Walsh needs you to give him your file," He said, "For your safety."

I rose a brow, what the hell was John trying next?

"Why can't he get it himself?" I grunted.

"Because George is back from vacation n' he refuses to give it to him."

I nodded.

"Sober up," He smacked my cheek lightly. "You're already stupider than you were."

Something about this guy didn't settle right.

"Shut up, you don't know shit," I mumbled.

I drifted off as the man walked out, that goddamn door-bell thing waking me up from my daydream of slapping John.

I grunted, standing up and grabbin' the cig pack, and taking one last sip of my drink for the night.

I stumbled out of the bastard-ridden bar, stomping in the slushy snow. A yellow taxi whizzed by.

Shit! I stuck my fingers in my mouth, whistling as loud as John's Honda startup.

The taxi stopped, making a U-turn. It pulled up, I climbed inside and slammed the door shut, I felt the taxi driver's eyes roll up and down on me, he turned back and began driving. I fell asleep.