Sweet Rush

One

The music couldn't get any louder as I try to decipher what this close-to-graveyard gentleman sitting across from me would like to drink. Talking to him is like speaking to a wall, no matter how hard I try I can't get him to speak any louder. I would be lying if I said he wasn't two syllables away from a heart attack or that's what it sounds like. 

 There's no way he should be at a bar and certainly not on a Friday night. I would do the honours of walking him across the street to the retirement home but I'm not that daring. Instead of spending another minute with this man I nod gently with a smile as if I heard a crap he said  before fetching a fresh bottle of vodka from the lineup of alcohol. I pour vermouth along with vodka into a mixing glass, shaking it vigorously for a perfect blend. After chilling I strain the contents into a martini glass topping it off with an olive and scooting it over to grandpa. You could never go wrong with a classic martini.

Before anything can be said I speed walk out of his vision and into the back for a quick bathroom break.

Finally, a breather.

My dark skin glistens in the rickety washroom's dim bathroom light. Because of the heat accumulating inside the bar, my once-tamed Afro has frizzed out everywhere, and I gently run my fingers through it to restore some civilization. I return to the bar, which has grown tenfold since I left. Suddenly my shoulder is nudged by Crystal, a fellow bartender/ desperate bottle-girl-in- the-making sauntering her way over to a table with a bucket of wine bottles.
I take a deep breath before taking on the crowd at the bar. A group of preppy girls, two older women, a lesbian couple and a stripper keeps me busy for about four hours straight leading me to home run aka end of shift. I glance down at my phone seeing the two missed calls from my dad, probably under the impression that I had been studying. A heavy feeling settles in my gut at the thought of my parents being completely oblivious to my life. I can't complain but it's a lot of weight to carry. A lot of lies to bear.

I leave the bar roughly around two am, sharing my location with my roommate Avana, who happens to be a medical student in the city. We met through Facebook marketplace where she was advertising her need to have a roomie and where I was desperately looking for a car. Instead I ended up with a full time pain in the ass and a warm place to stay.

I make my way over to the strip club next door and no I'm not job hopping. Imagine finishing a shift at a bar just to go and show my tatas to a bunch of strangers. No deal.

" And here I thought you weren't coming for me." Blair drawls, fixing her platinum blonde hair that is out of place in every direction possible. Her attire screams hobo, completely polar to what she wears inside the strip club. "It was slow as fuck!" She says while wiping her imaginary tears away to which I chuckle at.

"You're such a drama queen Blair, you know you made more money than me tonight and slow for you is usually 500 down." I ration with her watching her full cherry coloured lips spread into a smile. She says nothing more.

Every night, we walk together to the bus stop. Blair and I share a street, which explains why we ride the bus together every night. Though her shifts are somewhat flexible, we're committed to the buddy system we've established and have decided that we will never leave one of us to take the bus later in the evening/early morning on our own. If no one knew what New York was like, it was the city where girls don't walk alone at night, plagued with crack heads and insane people.

I hug my leather jacket even closer to keep from shivering in the icy air. Although owning a car would be beneficial, New York wasn't designed for it, and I don't want to deal with the congestion. I make my way inside the bus in the hopes that I don't doze off when it finally arrives, ten minutes later than usual. I would make a call to my parents but they're already fast asleep and this is an odd hour to be up "for a student."
After saying goodbye to Blair, I hastily make my way from the bustop to my apartment complex. Quietly, I enter the dull space, tip toeing to my room so I don't disturb Avana's night rest. Who would have thought that a bartender would be living with a medical student? Definitely not me.
I finally get to my room, having a moment to release myself from the draining day at the bar. It's ALWAYS busy.
Pritcher's isn't your everyday 'gets busy on the weekends' bar, it's the most popular bar in all of New York, hence why I'm a very sleepy girl. If I get a minute to sit at work besides my lunch, it's because I'm using the toilet. 

I strip myself of my alcohol stained clothes and drag myself to the shower. By the time I'm done with that it's now four am and my stomach is crying for something to enter.
I walk over to the kitchen pulling a bowl to pour some cereal into. The small portion fills me instantly and I return to my room to finally get some rest until I'm woken up by an intrusive squeal coming from above me.