I swirled the double shot of whiskey around my glass a moment. I’d never really had a taste for the stuff before. It may have been the burning sensation as it went down. Or maybe I just always had something more distracting than drinking going on in my life. But this time, as I threw back the glass easily, it tasted of absolutely nothing. I might have even gone as far as to say it tasted like ash in my mouth if that was not such a huge fucking cliché.

It was crowded when she sat down. I hardly even glanced over – I was waiting patiently for the bartender’s attention. I was drinking double shots, and tonight one was definitely not enough. Almost as soon as my tumbler was filled with that sweet amber liquid I downed it and requested another.

I knew it was going to happen somehow. It just seemed right. I could see all the pieces of the universe moving – an unimaginably complex machine consisting of trillions of moving parts. But I could focus both on each whirligig individually and on the entire apparatus together. The only thing I can compare it to is when I saw two cars collide in an intersection. Even though nothing was wrong at first I could see the trajectory. He could have stopped at the red light. She could have seen him in time to swerve. But I saw neither were going to until it was far too late. The screeching tires and crunch of metal was inevitable. So was this beautiful woman touching my shoulder. And I was just as powerless to stop it.

She smiled as she got my attention. She obviously wanted me to take the initiative. Normally I would be all for it. But tonight I just wanted to be left alone. I’m not quite sure why most people had an aversion to this. It had been a constant struggle throughout my life. The times that I’ve wanted to be alone the most are the times that other people are most attracted to me. But then again I suppose I’m partly to blame for being in a crowded bar.

Eventually we exchanged equally unimportant banalities, and equally generic conversation soon followed. Where was I from? What did I do for work? The same mediocre questions that seemed to be a part of every first time meeting. Boring as shit. I hated every moment. But she kept talking. Her hand was on my shoulder. I did not know if it had been there since the beginning or not. I was making up excuses in my head of why I had to leave.

Then, at one point, her hand was on mine. Her delicate touch loosened my fingers from around my whiskey. I let it go. I did not much care for her, but she seemed to care for me, at least a little. She led me upstairs to her room. We watched Netflix. I laid my head on her lap. She slowly stroked my hair until I fell asleep. The purple heart I’d been clutching in my left hand for the last sixteen hours fell to the carpet.

In the morning we both showered. She asked for her money. I paid her, then I went to my father’s funeral.