This is an excerpt from a larger body of writing I am working on. It is pure fiction, and any resemblance to a real place or person is only a coincidence.
What a shit day.
When I say shit, please don’t think I am wearing a tiara, waving my hand in the air in a frivolous fashion with the words ‘drama queen’ flashing in hot pink above my head. I mean shit, in the clearest of ways.
Apartment hunting may just be the new bane of my existence. I realized very quickly that staring at the same walls that we had stared at was not only unhealthy, but uninspiring. I craved a fresh start. A new neighbourhood with new smells, a brand new coffee shop where no one knew my order, and a dry cleaner who didn’t give me a, “poor girl” look when I no longer picked up men’s anything. I figured, tallest building in the city kind of thing. Let’s be the opposite of what I am now.
What on earth is going on in this city? None of this existed. Aren’t there cool condos, with mirrored back splashes, and a rooftop terrace available to charm me? I walked into someone’s bedroom today from the front door. Could you imagine answering the door for your, pathetic of course, Friday night takeaway with your bed in the background? On second thought maybe I am a drama queen, or snob. Let’s go with snob.
My day was shit. Perched up at the bar, head held in left hand, I blew the same strand of hair out of my face 17 times before someone had interrupted me.
“You’re a breath of fresh air…”
“Sorry?” Snappy, yes, snappy at a stranger with a deep voice, this was good.
“I just meant I don’t see pretty women hunched over a scotch, especially neat, on a regular day.”
“Oh, ya. Shit day.” Well he was a breath of fresh air. My lovely new bar-mate was about as handsome as a man could get. Perfectly tailored suit, black hair, dark and comforting eyes. I wanted to poke him… was he real? I couldn’t tell if he was or the scotch was starting to play spiteful games with me.
“Shit day? Really? Tell me about it, I’m a great listener.”
“Well, strange man at the bar, let’s start with a few formal introductions first.”
“Right, right, I’m John.” He put out his hand, stretching a little to meet me, giving me quite a firm handshake.
“I don’t tell strangers my name right away, maybe you’ll earn it.” Why was I so bitchy?
Quick to recover, my side smile disarmed him, as I moved over one seat so that only one was in between us. Curiosity could have killed me. Why was a man like him in a fancy bar in the middle of the afternoon? Was he here to meet his mistress? No ring, no sign of a client in sight.
“Where do I begin, John? Let’s start with a bed at the front door…”
He laughed and ordered a drink, settling back into his seat. My day was making a sunshiny shift.
Pic found here.