Small Things

 "What in the blue fuck are you doing here?' she asked. (I know it's either passive voice or shit gammar, but fuck you nazis). I peered across the booth at its newest occupant. "Trying to die of drink rather than thirst, why do you ask?" She snorted a laugh "Sully told me that he threw you out hours ago. He also told me that you come to this shit hole when you are slumming it, but he doesn't want you to know that he knows that." I let out  a small sigh, "And here I thought I could keep this place my dirty little secret. I guess you have no secrets from you bartenders. If you can't trust the person who gets you drunk on a regular basis, who can you trust?"

I shook my head in a vain attempt to clear it, if she was here things were a lot worse than I thought. Which, upon reflection, was not good. I was pretty sure that things were already a big, stinking pile of camel shit, and if it was worse than that, well brother I am fucked. I focused, it paid to focus around her, she was the type that didn't fuck around. The one (well the main one) that I never tried to coax into my bed because, truth be told, I was convinced I would somehow 'disappoint' her. The idea of her looking down at me, and saying "that's it, that all?", put the fear of a whole lot of gods into me.  

I had  never told her all of that, or if I had told her I was too drunk to remember, which amounts to the same thing in my book. "You've not been sober for 3 months, don't you think it is time you came up for some air? When was the last time you ate?" I pondered for a second, "what today is it?" She replied "it's Thursday." "If it is Thursday, then I would hazard a guess to say that I ate sometime after noon on Tuesday." She looked at me, "I figured as much, here." She pushed a bag across the table at me. The smell of actual food made my mouth water and sick at the same time. 

"I'll sit here till you eat at least half of it, so you might as well tuck in slim." she said with a smile. I had seen that smile before, it was the one she saved for the moments she was trying to convince a group of people that she was right. I tucked in like a good boy, and said "this might make me throw up you know?" She nodded "it might, but I am counting on your stomach being made of sterner stuff." I started to eat reluctantly, "fair play to you, but if I am here I don't expect to see anyone I 'know'." She smirked at me,"don't you think I know that you stupid son of a bitch? I am not here to drag you out of the stews. I know you'll either do that on your own, or I'll be the chief mourner at your funeral. I am here to let you know, that in spite of your best attempts to alienate all of us, you still have at least 3 people on this planet that want you to stick around."

She had once threatened to cut my head off, and send it home to me mother in a box,  so I knew that she didn't do a lot of mincing of words. I waved over the waitress, and ordered another pint of the slop they served here, after a certain amount of beer it all began to taste the same.  I got my new pint, held it up and toasted her, "here's to poor life choices." She clinked my glass with hers "oh, your latest poor life choice is right over there." She pointed to a booth in the back, "I was just the scout of the battalions of troubles that were coming your way tonight sweetheart." I followed her hand despite my over served state, I could see the person she was pointing to, it was a vague outline but a distant glance was all I needed to see who she was pointing to. "You can't be serious, her? here? that is just cruel." 

She nodded "sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. you'll recognize the quote won't you Shakespeare?" I sighed, I knew when I was beat. "Yeah, you bitch I do, go tell my next playmate I am ready for her to eviscerate me." She stood up "I wish you luck Shakespeare, I really do."