bring the night on || Doe + open
“What the bloody— Sorry, Mr Hale.” A flush of scarlet invaded Doe’s cheeks in a wave of warmth and embarrassment. It would be one thing if her manager heard her swearing like a sailor, and a completely different thing if it was her favourite elderly gentleman. Mr Hale was a regular customer at the Bluebird and she always made sure to save a caramel biscuit to go with his coffee. He was the kindest old soul, really. Made her day.
But today his magic didn’t seem to be working. Things kept going from bad to worse for the girl, with the latest installment in her series of misfortunes being a splash of boiling coffee on her wrist. It had hurt so much that she had hardly bitten back the profanities, even for Mr Hale.
Eyes watering, she finished the few things she’d started before approaching her manager with an apologetic smile. Some bullshit excuse how she wasn’t feeling well and a promise to take the extra shitty shift on Monday morning had her out of the shop and on the way home within five minutes. Finally Doe was allowed a breath. She inhaled deeply, but instantly regretted it when the ashy taste of smog filled her lungs.
“What is happening today?!” she exclaimed under her breath just as the wind blew a tendril of brown hair into her mouth. While she was trying to get hold of the last few hairs stuck on her tongue, she tripped on an uneven bit of paving. That’s it. I give up. Not doing life today.
She knew she was too annoyed and annoying to go home and inflict herself on her dearest friends, which left her with few options. In the end, she headed for the one place where she knew she could find understanding and freedom from judgement: the pub. There was one on her way home, a couple of streets down from the flat, that she could conceivably remove herself from in any state of drunkenness, which made it a safe bet.
Had to be careful with day drinking, she’d learnt that much in the past two years. Though it was fairly late in the afternoon, nearing on 5pm, so it was pretty much an acceptable time to go on a binge. She kept repeating this to herself as she walked through the door of The Butterfly & the Pig, a warmly lit and comfortably furnished little watering hole that she frequented on her bad days.
She picked up a pint of cheap beer from the bar and settled down into one of the corner tables, letting out a deep sigh as she sank into the leather chesterfield.