"Chief! You're not supposed to be looking at your wife's chart!" I caught Dr. Webber snooping in Adele's chart for about the fourth time since her surgery four days ago.

"I just wanted to see how she's doing."

"I realize that, but I'm her doctor. Ask me how she's doing."

"How is she?" the chief sighed, as he glared at me.

"She's great. She should be able to go home in a day or so."

"What about you? You haven't left this hospital since I hired you."

"I have. I went home…umm…well…Okay, maybe I haven't."

"Where are you staying? Are you living in a hotel?"

"Not exactly. I bought some land and a trailer over near a lake."

"What does Addison think about leaving New York for a trailer and a lake?"

"She's not coming out here, Richard, you know that."

"I know she cheated on you, but give her a chance. I'm sure it was a one time lapse in judgment."

"She slept with my best friend!"

"I know."

"You know everything."

"Why don't you take a break? Take the day off and go fishing."

"Is there a decent bar around here anywhere?"

"Joe's across the street. The surgeons around here go to Joe's to drown their sorrows, but it's a little early to be drinking. Go home first. Sleep."

"I've slept…umm…a few hours."

"Lack of sleep is the antimilk. It doesn't do a body good. Neither does alcohol. Now go home!"

"Alright, Chief, you win."

I left the hospital and walked straight across the street to Joe's bar. Every time I tried to close my eyes, I had the nauseating vision of my wife's legs in the air on my green flannel sheets. At least, if I passed out, I wouldn't remember dreaming about her. I opened the door to the dimly lit bar. The only other person inside was a small young woman. She was wearing a old and faded Dartmouth t-shirt and jeans with holes in the knees. On her feet were dirty Converse tennis shoes. Something about her looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place exactly what it was. Maybe she had been a patient in the pit?

I sat down a few seats away and ordered a beer. The bartender looked at me skeptically. I shrugged my shoulders, not wanting to give away personal information to the woman, and the bartender I assumed to be Joe.

"I'm usually the only person in here before noon. What's sucking in your life?" the woman asked.

"I just got this new job, and it's kind of stressful," I half-lied.

"Oh, yeah? What do you do?"

"Nothing you would be interested in."

"I'm getting ready to start a new job soon, too. I just finished with school."

"She's young," I thought silently, "But not young enough to be a college graduate. Maybe she just finished a master's program…"

"Well, I have to get going. At the rate I'm going, I'll be hungover before 3, and the last time that happened…well, anyway, good luck with your new job."

"Thanks. You, too."

I watched her as she stumbled into the rain. There was definitely something familiar about her. She looked like someone I've seen on TV, but who? I finished the beer in two gulps and ordered another. After finishing it as well, I put a few bills on the bar and walked out into the rain. I drove home and climbed into bed. I decided to sleep a bit and grab some food before heading back to the bar. Just as I settled into the bed in my new trailer, my cell phone began the insistent ringing I recognized as the tone Addison had set for herself. I let it ring into voicemail then turned the phone and my pager off.

Hours later, I woke up to a sound. Realizing the sound was coming from my empty stomach, I wandered into the kitchen to see if I could find something suitable to eat. Settling on some instant macaroni and cheese, I turned on the television. I tried to watch the news, but my mind kept wandering back to the girl in the bar. I put my bowl into the sink and grabbed my keys from the hook next to the door. I decided to see if she was still in the bar. After all, my marriage had ended. Why not have some fun of my own? As I entered the bar, I scanned for a Dartmouth t-shirt. Sure enough, she was sitting on the last stool at the bar, kind of slumped over.

"Are you okay?" I asked as I sat down next to her.

"I'm fine. Joe won't let me have any more tequila."

"Ah, so you're pouting."

"I'm not pouting!" she screeched.

I ordered a drink, still fascinated by the girl who seemed reluctant to offer a name.

"I'm Derek," I said, taking my drink.

"That's a nice name. I always wanted to change my name when I was a teenager. I wanted something that would go better with my pink hair and black clothes."

"What is your name?"

"That's not so important, is it?"

"I guess not."

After I'd had a few beers, I offered to take her home. I felt bad for her, sitting alone in a bar where the bartender refused to allow her to drink.

"Do you want to come inside?" she asked as I stopped in front of the house she directed me to.

"Umm…sure."