It was the ass-end of a shitty Thursday.
Pale moonlight reflected in rain-puckered
puddles across the cracked pavement.
I hunched into my grey trench-coat, and wedged
the grey fedora against the sporadic gusts,
quickstepping across to the waiting cab.
Joe’s place I said, and the driver grunted in reply,
crunching gears as we splashed down the road.
It was a short ride, so I slipped him a five
and told him to keep the change as I surveyed
the welcoming glow of dim lights that trickled
through the streaked windows of the bar.
She was on a stool at the end of the bar,
twizzling an olive in her martini, the red dress
cut so low I could see her breakfast.
The bartender brought a shot glass as I sat down,
slopping the JD in without needing to ask.
Leave the bottle I said, it’s been a rough day.
Did ya find him Sam, she asked through
hooded eyes, a quaver in her voice.
I found him I replied, he’s moved in
with Rita over on the south side. She
tried to speak, but no words came out
at first, and she took a deep breath.
The dirty bum she whispered, I shoulda known.
Let me buy you a drink I said, then
I’ll walk you home. No thanks, she replied,
I’m outta here. I poured another drink
as she left, just another broken heart
at the ass-end of a shitty Thursday.