Nighthawks

I woke up in the middle of the night. A bad dream that, in fact, I didn’t remember quite well. The weather was cold and my mouth was dry. I turned my head aside and saw nothing but messy sheets: she had left me.

 

The only opened bar in town at that hour happened to be Phillies, where I used to be a regular - when I was younger and women didn’t dump me that easy. Getting there, the first thing I spotted was this couple. They seemed very bored. Both were in total silence, as if it didn’t matter whether one or the other was really there. The woman was wearing a red dress that matched her hair. But not even so much red could call the attention of that man, who kept holding her hand just like it was a cup of coffee. Then I started to think if the woman who left me held my hand at the same way. And I realized I didn’t remember her holding my hand at all.

 

The bad thing about Phillies is the coffee. It looks and tastes like dirty water. Worse: cold dirty water. But, that night, with that sour feeling on my mind, I believed that I deserved nothing else.

 

“No sugar, please.”