Tap the Bass

He sits at the bar, the tonic in front of him slowly helping block the transgressions of the last few days… An odd state of surprise and shock rests heavily on his shoulders, weighing down like a ton of bricks. He looks at his drink, and he gives it an appreciative nod as he goes to take a sip. He puts it to his lips and realizes the new power it has over him, it’s warm, it’s comforting, in these regards it’s disturbing.

Music begins to play over the bars PA system, “slap that bass, and together it’ll be over…” There’s too much noise in the bar—or maybe that’s just in his head… he is the only person there not getting paid. It’s as if his mood had been toxic to the environment, no one wanted to come around him, not even the bartender, however this left him content in his own self-pity; it’s the only thing he felt he had a lasting claim to, it was something that she could never stop, therefore it was something she would never take away from him.

The thought of loneliness and self-depreciation begins to flood his thoughts—they can’t—he won’t let them. He decides it’s time for another drink, maybe two.