[Now, she balks. She takes another swallow of her beer, then sets it down before hopping deftly over the bar. She finds a plain shot glass and a bottle of raqi. She looks at him.]
There was a girl.
[She fills the glass, almost to the brim, and it's almost invisible, clear and smooth. She puts the bottle away. There's a water spigot, and she runs her hand under it, then flicks her fingers, droplets of water unerringly hitting the liquor in little blooms of white, tiny clouds of opacity. Flick, flick, flick.]
She felt too much. Struggled. Lost - clarity. She focused on the wrong thing.
[Flick, flick. The whiteness spreads through the whole glass.]
So.
[She dries her hand with a napkin, precise and dainty, then flicks the side of the glass with one strong, careful finger, holding it still with her other hand. The glass fractures, a curving spiderweb of cracks, but doesn't shatter, doesn't spill. Then she picks it up, pouring the liquor out on the counter in a long, thin, slow stream. The smell of licorice is strong. She wipes out the inside of the glass with the napkin too, then turns it upside down, puts it on the counter with a clink, slides it toward him as if for inspection.]
The glass is dry. But it remembers. Being full, and being emptied.
no subject
Sometimes -
[Now, she balks. She takes another swallow of her beer, then sets it down before hopping deftly over the bar. She finds a plain shot glass and a bottle of raqi. She looks at him.]
There was a girl.
[She fills the glass, almost to the brim, and it's almost invisible, clear and smooth. She puts the bottle away. There's a water spigot, and she runs her hand under it, then flicks her fingers, droplets of water unerringly hitting the liquor in little blooms of white, tiny clouds of opacity. Flick, flick, flick.]
She felt too much. Struggled. Lost - clarity. She focused on the wrong thing.
[Flick, flick. The whiteness spreads through the whole glass.]
So.
[She dries her hand with a napkin, precise and dainty, then flicks the side of the glass with one strong, careful finger, holding it still with her other hand. The glass fractures, a curving spiderweb of cracks, but doesn't shatter, doesn't spill. Then she picks it up, pouring the liquor out on the counter in a long, thin, slow stream. The smell of licorice is strong. She wipes out the inside of the glass with the napkin too, then turns it upside down, puts it on the counter with a clink, slides it toward him as if for inspection.]
The glass is dry. But it remembers. Being full, and being emptied.