She sat before me, head down, black roots seeping into her golden blonde curls, cascading down over her shoulders. I noted her worn out cowboy boots and dirty jeans, trembling hand reaching for a bottle. I watched as she tilted her head upwards, her throat bare of jewellery and the creamy colour of goat’s cheese. One of her green eyes flicked onto my face as she drank and she suddenly began to laugh, beer dribbling over her rosebud lips as she used the white of her hand to wipe her mouth.
She had studied Bio-Chemistry, only to drop out in her final year just months away from completing the course. She lived on friends’ bedroom floors, having been disowned by her heartbroken parents, when she wasn’t with her aspriring 'rock-star' boyfriend, who was always ‘away for gigs'.
I watched her, grinning manically as she mopped herself up with napkins; her smile seemed genuine. Was she really happier this way?
Man. The ultimate defeat. This is what I think, as I wipe the bar around her.
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