As long time readers will know, I often find myself in bars.
Bars/pubs/saloons/taverns/inns, call them what you will. Sitting in a comfortable bar watching the world go by while nursing a beer, or bourbon as the case may be, is my idea of bliss.
I’m also an avid watcher of people.
Often these two worlds collide and I find myself inventing little backstories for my fellow patrons. This is that.
Real people. Imaginary conversations. These are their stories.
Her: “So… Um, you told me you were going to leave your wife and then you come to our date wearing the watch she gave you for your 20th wedding anniversary? Are you fucking serious!? First Phoebe uses all of the A3 paper now this!”
Him: “I’ll talk to Phoebe about that tomorrow.”
Her: “Oh my god, really? You’d do that for me? I mean, I don’t want to get her into trouble or anything… but she’s such a bitch.”
Him: “Yes, she is a bitch. And her A3 paper usage is completely out of control.”
*Also Him (internally): “Remember to send Phoebe a dick pic later.”*