Stewart Shepard replaced the glass of scotch on the bar's smooth and reflective surface. He let out a low satisfied sigh, and gently wiped his bottom lip free of spilt alcohol. As he sat on the bar stool, both hands now clutching the bar's edge, he couldn't help but to let his mind wander, as it often did whenever he felt stressed. And every since that fateful day, only a month ago, his mind had been quite off track, and so he had taken to a little addiction to keep it in line. Or at least to dull out the thoughts, and constant reminders that each day had presented him with.
"Hey buddy," said the bartender,- a middle-aged man, wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows-, "you want a re-fill?"
Stewart continued his vacant stare, lost in thought and time, peering somewhere over the bartender's shoulder. He hadn't really noticed the man standing opposite him on the other side of the bar, but only that words were spoken, and seemed to have been said at the far end of a tunnel.
"Hey buddy," the bartender reiterated.After the same response, which happened to be none, the man leaned over and lightly shook Stewart by the shoulder. The thirty-three year old publicist jumped to his senses, arms flailing and dark eyes full of momentary panic.
"Hey, get the hell off me!" he slurred, shaking the bartender's hand free. His eyes flickered around for a moment, taking in the surroundings again, and after a few foolish seconds, he glanced apologetically back at the bartender. Finding only a dismayed frown peering suspiciously back at him, Stewart raised his barrier again.
"Yeah, what?" he snapped, running a hand through his hair.
"You okay?" ventured the stranger.
"Am I okay? Of course I'm okay,-why the hell wouldn't I be?" Stewart heatedly rambled, "Now give me another shot, and fuck off."
Dammit, did he just slip? Fuck, he made certain promises that he would try the 'courteous' thing. Then here he goes, and slips up, falling back into that old web, and just look where that got him.
Stewartblinked awkwardly many times, and avoided the man's eyes as he briefly apologised, "…sorry."
"Yeah. Right."
He ment to say more, maybe even explain his prediciment, but before given the chance, the bartender quickly filled his glass a quarter full, and indignantly turned to another customer.