Picking up the chilled tankard, he emptied it right down in several big gulps, before slamming it onto the surface of the black, sleek table. Feeling it rising inside him, he braced himself against the incoming burp. It hit him hard, almost ending up regurgitating all the booze he had been drowning himself in for the past hour.
Trying to sooth that dreadful feeling, he held a palm across his chest, another against the table, resting his forehead upon it. When it finally passed, he leaned back against the chair as far as he could, both hands covering his face, giving his stiff back some stretching. All he had been doing for the past few weeks were just typing and drafting proposals and documents, and that’s gradually hitting his breaking point.
In a spur of madness he laughed hysterically, drawing plenty of attention from the other patrons of the bar.
Screw it. Nobody knows nobody here.
This wasn’t the usual place they hit on girls or get drunk all those times. It’s more of a pub than a karaoke lounge or a club. The patrons here are usually senior citizens or people that actually wants to have a proper conversation surrounded by somewhat jazzy ambience. He wasn’t in his suits either; just jeans and a denim jacket hiding the hideous Spiderman T-shirt he got last Christmas.
Like all bartenders, this one seemed to telepathically read his mind, popped another bottle of Heineken free of its cap and placed it before him. “Thanks,” he smiled bitterly. The bartender replied with a thumbs up before saying, “Haven’t seen you around before. You new in this neighbourhood?”
He nodded, “Just passing by.”
“Where’re you headed to?”
“Anyway but the city, I suppose,” he answered after giving it some thought.
The bartender stared back at him, then smiled back at him empathically, before he was summoned to serve the other customers. Feeling relieved yet partly disappointed, he was sipping his beer alone, left to his own thoughts. One hand holding the bottle, his left was constantly reaching out to the peanuts, stuffing them in at a staccato-ish tempo…
“There you are!!” A voice boomed from the back, before a palm landed on his shoulder.
“Another one of his, please!!” Dyke, in his suit, rested himself right next to him, while busily texting someone on his mobile. A moment later the mobile was shoved into his pocket, and Dyke turned his attention to the beer of bottle that was just placed before him.
“Cheers,” he held his half-drained bottle mid-air, waiting for Dyke to return the gesture.
“To your health, mate.” Both of them took a big sip, before resorting to another stretch of silence.
“You cool?” Dyke broke silence, while staring intently at him.
“Yeah…no…No, I’m not,” he replied, decided to be honest to his workmate in the end.
“You mad?? It was that night, isn’t it?? I’m sorry but we were all high. I was freaking high. I couldn’t tell from left to right,” Dyke resorted to his apologetic tone.
He allowed himself the luxury to chuckled for a moment of two, before sipping on his beer, almost choking himself when he tried recalling how high they were that night.
“YOU, my friend, were TOTALLY WASTED,” he continued, “no offence taken.” Dyke sighed in relief, but in no way was prepared for what came next.
Raising his beer mid-air, he gave Dyke toast. “To your ignorance and stupidity, for which if absent from my life would result in a severe deterrence to enlightenment and understanding, of which I be subjected to a loop of endless self-gratifying and self-pitying of my own.”
Without waiting for a response, he emptied his tankard, leaving Dyke stunned and speechless in his spot. Dyke was just starring at him, trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. Slamming the tankard onto the table, he said, “The tab’s on you,” before standing up and left for the door.
Making his way onto the streets, he paced northwest towards the city, not exactly sure where he intends to go next. Even more so after insulting and pissing of his one of the few friends and colleague he could actually mingle around at work.
It’s gonna be so AWKWARD…
He wasn’t sure why he acted that way, and the reason he had uttered such hurtful words was beyond his comprehension. But he felt good afterwards; some kind of poison expunged from the inside after his outburst. Someone had to pay for that and Dyke was the unfortunate scapegoat who took that head on like a champ. To be fair, nobody is MORE QUALIFIED than Dyke to be at the receiving end.
Perhaps I should apolog…
CRASH!!!
All he felt next was a crushing blow descending upon his skull, and a searing pain punctured through his left temple. He crumbled onto the ground almost instantly, before feeling his hands on some kind of slack fabric. It was pitch black but soon enough he was tasting blood in his mouth. There were lots of shouting but there wasn’t anything that he could make out before he lost consciousness…
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