Tequila, 4:20

5 0 0

His arms on the cheap wooden table work hard to keep him upright. He looks across the table at her. She's impossibly young and beautiful.


"What am I drinking?" he asks.


"Tequila."


"What time is it?"


"4:20 in the morning."


"Who are you?"


This is complicated. Too complicated for her to explain in his current state. She wants to explain how she had once dreamed of a future together, of wandering the globe as two lovers on a spectacular journey. In this bar, at this time, it's all she can do to hold out hope that a future together is still possible.


She wants to explain all of this, but can only manage, "Don't worry. I'm a friend."


He looks down again, disoriented.


"What am I drinking?"


"Tequila."


"What time is it?"


"Still 4:20."   

Pure Writerly Moments (The Best of Goodreads Blog Posts, 2008 - 2018)Read this story for FREE!