The Whiskey is Gone

She smiles,

"I give you three more months of being single, before someone snatches you up,"

I grinned, "We'll see."

"Does she know you want to be with her?" she asks me. We put down another shot. I light a cigarette.

"Yes."

"Does she want to be with you?" I order two more shots.

"No."

Inhale. Exhale.

"Then why do you wait around, thinking that will change?" I pause, thinking.

"Because I'm having a hard time letting go of this one," The shots come. I lay a 20 bill on the bar. Get back 15 bucks change. Gotta love the dives.

"Because I want to say; look, if you want me, you got me. Now. Act now, this is the moment god-damnit. All I think about is you. But once I move on, that's it. I move on for good, and we'll grow old and die and never be together." We pick up the shot glasses.

"Have you said that to her?"

"No."

"Will you ever?"

"No."

"You should say something, or walk away."

A pause.

"There's nothing to be said that I'm not already obvious about,"

Another pause. She runs her finger along the edge of the shot glass.

"Three months?" I ask.

"Three months," she says with a smile. I shake my head in dismay.

"Cheers," I say, raising my glass.

"Cheers," she taps my glass, and another round of whiskey is gone.