The lights slowly flickered back on to illuminate the empty pub. Upstairs, Tara fought the inertia of her old, sunken sofa. She would have to work after all. After taking a minute to regain herself, she went downstairs to flip the sign back over: OPEN. She called to Ever, who came grumbling down the stairs rubbing his eyes. With the usual, minimal, communication, he went back into the kitchen and began his new routine of cleaning and washing.
Felix was the first to come in that night. Snow dusted off of his many raggedy layers as he walked. He mumbled slightly incoherently and sat beside the heater. Tara acknowledged him kindly. She's familiar with this quietly needy man. She brought him a warm plate of left over cooking from last night and watched him eat hungrily while she went on getting the pub ready for the long night to come. She liked Felix's sporadic visits.
Tara was tired of her routine. She'd once been grateful for its stability, always knowing what to expect. But she had come to realize that she naturally couldn't fit into a routine; it was dull. Mind-numbingly, emotionally absently, dull. Even her hands weren't appreciating the same old wear. And she wasn't all that young, and routine's monotony was making her youth seem to seep away more quickly.
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An Attempt at Normalcy
So tonight I decided to do something new. You know, maybe get out a little. It's the first time I've done anything in this town without Jojo, and my wrist feels slightly lighter, almost naked without the blue and white woven leash twisted twice around it. I don't really know what type of people hang out at the pub, but I put on my new sweater just in case. It's not really new, but I haven't worn it since I unpacked my last remnants of home last night. It'd be really nice to meet someone who I could talk to. I realize that talking only to my dog for the past month and a half is probably not healthy. I found myself talking to the box of Lucky Charms yesterday. And the day before that I apologized to the fire hydrant after I bumped into it. "Yeah," I think aloud, before I catch myself and finish the thought in my head, I need to get out more.
Once inside the pub, I look around and almost immediately regret coming in. Besides the woman behind the counter, there are only two people in the shop: a haggard-looking man by the heater in the back, and another in the corner with his dog. Strange, I think to myself this time, maybe I should have brought Jojo. I pick a table by the guy with the dog, hoping we may have something in common. After the slightly distracted woman from the counter takes my order, I would feel bad not buying anything, I turn to the man on my left. I see his cloudy eyes and understand the dog: he's blind. But he's noticed my presence (do I smell? I think back to the last time I showered in the frigid water of my flat), and says "I'm Jacen, how are ya?"
"Fine," I reply, "Loretta." We make small talk for a while about that guy on top of the bank this afternoon who everyone seemed to pay so much more attention to than the escaped convict who was all over the news. Priorities in this place are screwed up. Then I ask him about his dog, which he says he's had a few years now. "I have a dog too," I say, "Jojo, he's an Irish setter." The man raises his eyebrows, not so much in surprise but an expression of disbelief.
"How old is he?" Jacen asks in a low voice. I think for a minute, it's not something that's ever crossed my mind. A small smile crosses the man's face, "don't worry about it," he continues. He easily pushed his chair back and maneuvers his way out of the small restaurant.
I look around, painfully aware that I am now the only paying customer in the pub, and feeling almost as empty as when I came in, save for the brew that's not near as good as it was at home.
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