Despite the fact that Wednesday night is usually my social night, I was feeling incredibly antisocial.

Oh yes, I did go to Metal Night, and it was all well and good, but I didn't really feel like being there.

I had one drink and felt tipsier than I should have, and read my book for the rest of the night.

That's right. I read my book. In the bar. Shut up.

I liked my outfit, though. It was vaguely china-doll-esque with a hint of femme fetale and a touch of dominatrix (black slip with the lace neck, corset over that, long black form fitting skirt with slits up the sides, fishnets, and a fedora; my make-up was pale pale pale, with little red lips and sweeping black fake eyelashes; it was good).

My book was good, though. There was some short little guy who's always incredibly drunk who came up and started asking me about my book, but all I wanted was to get back to reading.

He's the type of guy that I wouldn't care to know if he were sober, either.

Pretty Sean and Colleen came up to bug me periodically throughout the night, and I didn't mind their company because they're both pretty quiet and unassuming.

I had ten dollar in my jacket to buy myself a drink, so I went up and asked for my usual Wednesday night drink (rum and coke; basic and not as good as sambuca and coke, but it has a low-key, more pleasant affect on my disposition than vodka or draft), and handed the 'tender my ten.

And watched him count out change like I'd given him a twenty.

Now, I may be a starving student, but I also have a very guilty conscience and I don't like screwing over people who haven't done anything worthy to be screwed over.

Plus, I like this bartender and didn't want his till to come up short at the end of the night.

So I said, "I think I gave you a ten."

Admittedly, I didn't look at the bill I gave him, but I'm about ninety percent positive I had a ten.

He frowned at my a little (in thought, rather than irritance) and checked his till.

Then he frowned some more, shrugged, and handed me the change he'd originally counted out, sixteen dollars.

I shrugged, smiled, thanked him, and left.

So I was a drink and six dollars richer.

At least, I'm pretty sure. As I said, I didn't look at the bill.

But oh, it's great. There's this usual bouncer at the door (this short, wide, grim looking guy who kind of looks like Mike's roommate, Vurn). Normally he scowls at everyone who comes in, and demands ID.

I go so regularely now he smiles when I come up to the door and shoves open the door for me.

Mind you, the smile is tense and grim and barely a: "I recognize you from last week. I'm vaguely pleased that you haven't died since then."

It's funny, though.

I feel a lot more worse than I should today, considering I only had one drink.

Oh well. I'll drink some more water and feel better.

.

Rosie.

Before&After