Whenever Ink is Needed

She glimpsed at an empty glass around 11:00 pm. I’m drinking too fast again she thought. It was only yesterday that she found pieces of herself written in napkins and tissues across a strange place. She waved her finger in the air to signal the barkeep for another glass.

She was never a person for conversations; each time a guy walked up to her, she never as muched moved her eyes or lifted a finger.

She sat alone, stirred her scotch and soda and made whirlpools from tiny ice cubes just for the fun of it.
She liked the taste as the burn crawled through her throat as if she drank fire to cough out smoke.

She took a look down again at 11:11 
pm and she wished for her glass to fill itself up. But she knew she had to call it a night.

She thought of him doing the same thing. Probably, unlikely true. Yet she stood up and went home.

The taste of her victory lingered in her lips. She’ll probably, unlikely be back again tomorrow.

There is a war to withstand. A battle yet to be waged.

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