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Ain't That a Kick in the Head?

He looked at me, head cocked to the right, sitting a few seats down the empty bar.

“You’ll learn too, kid. Maybe you already did.”

The man turned his head back to his whiskey, the ice half-watering it down. Who was he? My mind is too jumbled to think after the day, perhaps maybe a bit too drunk as well. I picked up my bottle and took another sip, almost as if looking for a way to seem uninterested.

“How did you?” I asked him, not letting eyes leave the wet, peeling label on the bottle.

The man, this time, turns his chair towards me, gets up and begins walking to the coat rack.

“You’ll wake up enough mornings with a headache to realize, you’ll be with enough cunts and whores to know. You wait for the one that looks you in the eyes and tells you that she loves you..”

He takes a pause to put on his coat, the air was awfully cold tonight, before turning to me again.

“…and you turn around and never talk to her again”

He opened the door, walking out into the night.

I haven’t seen him since.

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