It wasn’t too decent a place. But, in its defense, not much was to be expected of a fifty year old bar on the back roads of New York.

There was the familiar sounds of people chatting idly, occasionally broken by the guys shouting in approval or anger at whatever game was playing on the TV. The walls were plain, and some upbeat 50s song was making white noise in the background of peoples’ laughter and conversations. And as always, a level cover of some form of smoke drifted through the air, giving the place itself a hazy look.

And there I sat, on one of the run down stools, absentmindedly tracing the rim of my wine glass with the tip of my black gloved finger. The bartender stood a little ways off. Some old guy with nasty sideburns, but a nice smile to make up for it. I personally didn’t care how he looked or how jolly he was. Just so long as he didn’t kick my underage *** out.

Not that I was really drinking, I admit. No, I was just sitting, first glass still in hand, only half empty. Ripped jeans, converse, and my usual long sleeved violet top. Nothing special.

But I was finding it damn near impossible to pass for nonchalant.

I couldn’t exactly blame them for staring. I mean, some gothic girl with ghost pale skin and two colored hair is bound to look a bit out of place. They could just be more subtle about it, ya know?

I sighed, pushing some of my purple bangs behind my ear where it rested with the rest of my night black hair. I’ll just keep my cool, relax as long as I could and get the hell out of there.

Right. Like anything is ever that simple for me.

Either way, some terrible high-pitched noise threw me off for a second, but when I turned all that was there was some blond bimbo, tequila glass in hand and laughing like an idiot.
I almost felt bad for her, seeing the guy who eagerly got up to ‘help her get home safe’, but I shrugged it off. Not my problem if some skank who couldn’t hold her liquor decided to go out and drink like a fish. You’d think people would learn!

So the girl left with the guy (most likely going to get a nasty surprise in a month or so after she wakes up with a hangover. Idiot.) and I went back to just staring at my own drink, debating whether or not just to leave now or wait. I didn’t really enjoy sitting around the STD infested drunk house, but it was nice to just sit down for once. To not be running. I figured I should enjoy that as long as I could before it was time to bolt. Nothing bad had happened so far, right? No one had recognized me, no one had even come up to speak with me. Maybe, for once, I could be in and out of a place without a problem.

“Bonjour chere.”

Hellooo problem.