2. Wednesday

"Can I take your order?"

It was a week day. Wednesday, in fact. 9 pm. The bar was almost empty, there were no voices to drown out the subtle tones of old music undulating through the thick, warm air. She liked the old music. Like an old dusty armchair, riddled with worn patches and fraying sleeves, it was comforting and warm. It soothed her aching mind. No voices. No voices except this one.

"Can I take your order?"

A boy at the bar. One of his eyebrows was raised. She wondered how long he'd been waiting for her answer.

"Oh. Yes. Er, I'll have a glass of red wine please. Are you still serving food?"

The boy took a wine glass from under the counter and rubbed at its water spots with a cloth as he answered.

"Sure. Yes, we're still serving food. What would you like?" He raised his eyes to look back at her. Curious eyes, she thought. Brown at first, but green when you looked at them twice.

"Oh nothing, I just wondered if you still were." She murmured, looking back down to the crumpled paper in her hands. Slipping it quietly from the table top into her lap, she glanced back up. The bar boy had gone. She could see the back of his head bent beneath the counter, selecting a cleaner glass for her drink. His hair made her smile. From the front, it had seemed so perfectly styled. Not a dark hair out of place. From the back, there were feathery ridges from his crown to the nape of his neck. She imagined him running his fingers through it as he watched the clock on what could only be a painfully boring shift.

He put down her drink in front of her with a clink of glass on wood. It startled her. He blushed. So did she. "Thank you." She whispered. Her eyes had been shut again. They were always doing that.

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