Come here, he said. Get over here. Nervously, she walked over to him. Did anyone ever tell you you’re really pretty. She smiled. Blushed a little.  I mean it. Pretty black hair. It shines. Pretty brown eyes. Really something. He swiveled on his barstool. Bartender. Set em up. What are you drinking, honey?

Ohhhh. I’m OK. She pulled out a cigarette. 

Rejecting me? My feelings are hurt, he told her. I thought we had something.  I looked at you across the bar. You looked back. You walked over here to me for Christ’s sake.

I just want a Coke. I don’t drink. I can’t drink.

Why’s that?

I get crazy.

Crazy is good.

No. Crazy is bad. She laughed.

How so?

I’d start around noon. Drink into the evening. Wake up the next morning on a bus leaving town. Going out west. Or up to Canada. She shook her head.

Shouldn’t be in a bar. He said. False advertising.

I like bars. She looked around. Like seeing what I’ve accomplished. Seeing if I can get through the night without a drink. Testing myself. 

I see. Is that what I am? A test?

The brunette shook her head. No. She said. You’re like candy.

How so?

I want to taste your lips. But I’m scared to. Cavities. Holes in your soul. Bad for you. Next thing you know, I’m back on the bus. Or, in your arms with a bottle beside me. 

Yeah. I suppose so. I never met any woman like you. Especially in a bar. You’re a rare breed. He said, placing his hand on her shoulder.  She nodded. If you ever want to take a bus trip, let me know. He laughed.

I’ll do that.  Yes, sir. I’ll do that.