Quietly, In Brooklyn

Tired from drink, his eyes closed as they wandered from bar room to bar room. Sleepwalking, huddled with the rest, he carried on unaware of where he was going or how he’d make it there. His mind stayed with him but his body seemed to follow its own path, so that he remained within himself but was conscious of very little other than the space in his head. He blinked—and they were in a new bar. And with it, all memory of the previous spot, earlier conversation and earlier action, was gone. New places needed to be conquered tonight, he knew, and more drinks needed to be ordered.

When his eyes opened he gathered in the dark, black room before the lids closed again. He settled in feeling warm and comfortable. He made his way to the bar alone, the first to lock the tender’s glance, and ordered a drink. He shut his eyes and took the drink quickly, eager to feel more of the drug effect, thinking, but not quite hoping, that it would liven him up a bit. Gathered now with the others, he ordered four more drinks, keeping one and sharing the rest. Everyone laughed and enjoyed the drink.

His party slid around the room, spilling their drinks and talking too loud. He sunk into his chair, ordering another quick drink then one other. Drinking each successively, he felt his head swimming and eased slowly from an upright position to one in which he slowly hunched forward, finally to one in which only his left arm held him up on the bar, grasping his own hair for balance. A flash from earlier in the night popped into his head. They were sitting cross-legged in an apartment, enjoying several different highs. He smiled and thought that it might be best to make the transition from strong drink to steady, decent beer.

The beer he could sip alone. He watched his friends and even spoke with them when they found the bar, laughing with them about anything they chose. But mostly, he sipped his beer and thought about its taste. The first beer was bitter: rich in hops, an amber glow, and sharp flavors. He enjoyed it and knew it to be a worthy drink, but it didn’t fit him tonight. He finished the ale quicker than he wanted, laughed to himself about his decision then ordered two new drinks. This beer would fit, he decided, and the rich, black flavor confirmed it. The beer was subtle, drinkable, but strong. Few could handle it right now, but he grabbed the extra he had ordered and handed it to a friend who joined him to the right.

As others passed back and forth from the bar proper to the rest of the room, they were kind enough to often pat him on the back. They were checking on him, attempting to pull him away from the dark spot and back into the rest of the world. They laughed about his perceived mood and appearance, thinking that either he was not enjoying himself or that he had already drank beyond an enjoyable night. Neither was true, so he responded to the pats with smiles and laughs and, “No, no, I’m fine.” He opened his eyes and followed the pack as they left the bar, not forgetting to leave a tip, back out into the grey streets of Brooklyn.