He poured some in the glass and glugged. He obviously hadn’t
shaved in weeks. Probably hadn’t bathed either.
What is it with men, moods and
chin hair? I wondered what women did when they were in a bit of a bother? Grew
their nails and ignored their laundry?
He hit me again. Harder this time. Staring at me with those
wide brooding eyes. Mean one this fellow. But there was a sorrow in those mean
eyes I hadn’t noticed. Like a lost dying star in a bright nebula.
The bartender shot him a dirty look. Sitting at the back all
these weeks, I’d noticed all the different types of drunks who walked into
Mikey’s Bar. There were mostly four types I realized – the mean ones, the
braggarts, the quiet ones and the singers.
This one though, he was different. Mikey didn’t know what to
make of this one. No one else did either.
He was like a wolf in a pack of dogs. Lone; lonely maybe. But not out hunting.
He hit me again and again. Putting me down at last with a
harsh sound on the bar top. A hush descended. The door screeched open. Heels
clicked and a woman’s voice said, "Andhesh…. You have to come home, NOW."
He threw me against the wall and I broke into a million
pieces. I watched him leave, no silent goodbyes said, as the Vodka poured out
of my guts slowly…..
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