Maybe it is a shortcoming on my own part, but in a crowded environment I always feel like everyone’s eyes are glued to me. If only my presence in the room this instant were that important. It is no more or less than my own insanity that leads me to believe I have such power to be the focus of so many different people at once. I attempt whole-heartedly to squash this thought from the forefront of my mind and head to an open stool at the bar.
“What’ll it be?” Scott, the usual bartender asks me, while placing a small cocktail napkin in front of me.
“Just give me a beer,” I say, knowing that he will make the choice for me.
He places a tall pint glass, filled with a yellowish beer in front of me. It is filled almost to the top, with a few bubbles spilling over the top and sliding down the glass, just over the top of his knuckles. As he places it down, a few more bubble spill over the side. The bar is pretty crowded and he isn’t taking much time to save the extra ounces of beer that are being spilled everywhere. I seem to be the only one who is noticing anyway.
“Do you know Fathom?” the woman sitting next to me asks, with her friend peering over her shoulder. “I thought I saw you talking to him outside.”
To be continued…