Avatar Author: Nouvelle Bardot Laura wishes it was 1983, plays the ukulele, loves John Cusack and a nice cold can of PBR after work. She is analog, poetic and odd. Read Bio

I let my hand graze against the tracks of fingerprints and dust on the bar. Reaching for the clouded glass, I was already intoxicated. My being here led me to believe that I was trapped in an abyss in which nothing could save me from. A hand from behind clasped my shoulder, it was a firmm grasp that held an air of authority. I took my time turning around to meet the owner of the hand.

Tall and scowling, I knew right away the familiar man still holding me down to the chair. Silently, he joined me at the bar, the bartender immediately went to fill a glass.

“It’s been too long, Brigitte,” he said, eyes fixed on the assorted bottles overhead.

“Perhaps,” I replied, fingering the rim of the glass absently, “Perhaps, it’s been the right amount of time, wouldn’t you say?”

“You always know how to put things into perspective,” he said, grabbing the drink as the bartender presented it, and skulked away. He paused, with his drink halfway to his lips and suddenly turned to face me.

“God, you’re lovely,” he said.

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