“One more, please,” she requested, holding her glass forward for me to take.
I hesitated; she’s been here for hours, and this would have been her 27th drink.

Not a good sign.

However, I relented. If she had problems, they’re hers, not mine.
Plus, the extra cash I’d get each drink she orders was a nice incentive.

“That’s my fault,” she said when I handed her drink, motioning towards the television in the bar, tuned to late night news. The current report was about a strange swirling black sphere that appeared in Main St.

“Experts are at a loss to explain what this black sphere is, though some speculate that it may be a singularity, or a small black hole. However, it is not yet clear how this strange object appeared, nor what would happen if someone goes near it. Citizens are advised to stay clear of the area while the object is being studied.”

So that’s what caused the traffic jam this morning.

“That’s my fault,” she repeated.
Her glass was empty again.