Editor

A drink is set down in front of me, it was ordered by that girl over there. It's the same and I was going to switch it up, but I didn't think things like this actually happened and she's pretty and I'm not going to mess this up. Bartender gives me a look like I have this in the bag, I guess she's seen enough to know. I walk over to her, the other girl. Thanks, I say.

I just walked in for myself. It was cool and the air was fresh and I was only walking back. Tomorrow could be a day where I get things done or where I let things get away from me, a day that just sits there, and at this point it's too early to tell. It's only my second drink after all. She has on a blue shirt, even in here with the lights down low I can tell it's blue as hell. I can tell she's like me, just looking for a quiet drink on a nice night or the other way around or whatever. We didn't expect it.

She just started a new job, a higher-up position at a lower-down company but it's new and it's exciting and they sell standing desks to people. I've read that they work and I've read that they're nonsense but she swears by them. She asks me what I do and I say I'm in between things at the moment and hope that's enough. What things, she asks me. About to go to work for a place that makes big, soft, comfy chairs for people to rest in at their desks but I hope she'll still talk to me. She laughs and I'm relieved.

Has she been here before? Yes. Does she live around here? Maybe. I love this place, I tell her, even though it's my first time, which doesn't make it a lie, but I imply a history. I live around here but I keep that to myself, I don't want to come off as one of those guys. Which, really, we're all those guys, some of us are just better at hiding it. I get the next round. She's drinking dirty martinis with extra olives, like she's in a movie or something. She looks like she could be in a movie. Maybe someone in here's watching us, looking at us, thinking we look like a scene in a movie. Cut to street. Cut to cab. Cut to bed. Cut to black.

She's already helped me, this woman, this editor. She got the drink, gave the look, made the move, she started something. Whether or not we finish it is anyone's guess. But the muck and the mire, the fat trimmed on the cutting room floor, she's done so much work for me already. She's sitting there in her blue blouse and all I want to do is thank her, and I do, I smile and I ask questions and she is smart and passionate and wants people to be healthier. She's light and cool and her air is fresh and why don't I stop into bars more often? Why have I always thought ill of being alone?

Cut to street. Can I see you again sometime. She doesn't live here. Stops a cab. She's getting on a plane tomorrow morning, today, this morning, in eight or so hours. She kisses me and tells me good luck with my next thing, it never would've worked out between us anyway, I want people to sit, and she wants them to stand. She wants them to walk. She wants them to lead healthy lives. Cab drives away. Somewhere a bird is singing, but it can't be too close to morning, because everywhere around me is pitch black.