something quickPosted: April 7, 2009
“Sarah says hello,” Tim says, over an alcoholic beverage, “Oh, and she also wants you to know that she flushed the ring down the toilet.”
A fist slammed onto the varnished oak table. Two glasses rattled in response. One was filled halfway. The other, empty. The air smelled like alcohol, the people looked uncaring. They are sitting within a worn vinyl booth, its green color faded by countless others who had been doing the same. “You want another beer, Marshall?”
“Yeah, sure, you damn well know I need– Wait, what!?”
A sweet voice and a nametag appeared out of the ether. “The man will have another beer,” Tim says, softly. The waitress nods, and loses herself within the crowd, only to appear mere seconds later with a freshly poured pint. “Hot damn, now that’s service!”
“Shut up,” Marshall stabs, already halfway through the new pint, “She really stamped out whatever was left of what we had?” He takes another large sip. “Jesus Christ, one stupid move– the fuck did you have to introduce me to her anyway?” He steals Tim’s beverage, and downs it. “What kind of pretentious prick are you, drinking whiskey? My god, she flushed the ring… Did she really flush the ring?”
There is a silence, an awkwardly tinged silence. Marshall clutches the glass to the brink of shattering. The ice inside rattles against the walls. The chatter in the room does not cease to continue.
“No, she didn’t,” Tim says, deadpan, “But that’d be some fucked up shit if she did.”
The sound of glass shattering can be heard.