One of those nights

I was out tonight drinking in various locals and despite the variety one constant remained the same: having my book to scribble thoughts in. I recognize that I am no author, years of editing and critiques have taught me this. However, this was a little something I came up with between Mojitos and beers. Please let me know what you think this is truely a transcribed first draft and if people want to hear more of the story I might tweek it and see where it can be taken to.

"The hardest word is the first, like the first kiss you steal from a girl, a good first one unleashes a torrent that makes you forget the first and release a torrent of followers and then when you look back wonder what the hell was I waiting for? When I write write I simple skip the terror of the first page and launch full formed onto the second, it increases the passion and the drive and skips the the sense of ceremony."

He paused as she nodded, the 'I am a writer line got a lot more play then the bullshit about acting. With acting girls knew that you weren't in movies they had seen and quickly they were moving on. However, writing wasn't like that. Virtually nobody, outside of a few anti-social professor types, could keep up-to-date with the various litearature scenes, the blogs, the print and the journals. The daily avalanche of consumable text that was seldom if ever consumed. Choice was everywhere and people were choosing the youtube videos of idiots doing stupid things. Words were everywhere but seldom read, an indictement of a society that constant commentators proclaimed ready to fall. Too many opions not enough listeners. A society in which 'C U @ 8 :)' was considered a perfectly reasonable and coherent sentence! He was starting to chase the idea further down the rabit hole as he took a long pull at his drink. But, he noticed the girl... what was her name?...

Looking about the room "Sorry," he continued "Sometimes something catchs my...me offguard. I get lost in etching a moment in my mind for a later tale."

"Really, am I going to turn up in one of your next works?" Claudia, Claire, Chloe, or Catherine giggled

"Well so far we've got little more than a hello. I'd need you tell me more about you, who you are, what makes you laugh, cry, and go to sleep with a smile on your face at night?" It was a blantant, but he thought by the way she was drinking her third or fourth pinkish drink play but worth dropping in now. If she laughed him or demured it was early enough that an adequate replacement could be found.

She took the bait and and she started to yammer about bullshit that no wanted to hear nearly as much as she wanted to say. He nodded encouragement and agreed at the painfully obvious pauses that searched for the approval to continue in her diatribe.

The whole time he was listening for a few key words: "god, kids, husband, boyfriend" or bullshit pronoun choices about exs. The last a certain flag of lesbianism because bi chicks, the gate keepers of the holy grail of threesomes, dropped that bomb early in conversations in a bar like this. Any of these flagged words were certain to lead to a no or complicated and therefore regretable sex. None of these came out and grinned his half cocked smile, he knew that if Claire, Cassandra, or Cat wasn't omitting any of these words it was intentional or actual. Both went down as good omnes for the night to come.

He laughed at some anedote about a time in her youth when she got her finger stuck in a seat belt on a childhood date. One of 'those' dates when mommy and daddy drove and chaperoned you to a movie. There was not much chance of that tonight, the only one keeping an eye on them was the bartender making sure neither glass went dry though they were getting close.

He leaned closer, pretending to need to be able to better hear, however, his only intention was to make sure that she and he were both comfortable face to face.

He knew that soon would come the moment famialir to all card players, and most acutely to poker players. He had seen the cards, and as he looked both at this girl and about the bar he knew it was time to bet. He had to choose. He could either bet and order another round for both and continue to feign interest in what her big brother liked to do for fun or he could fold and wish her a 'goodnight.' He considered his hand, she seems to have loved the idea of a writer and she was not an un-pretty girl however, she'd been less than pithy during the back and forth of the evening.

He checked.

He drained most of his mojito, rose and excused himself to the bathroom. He always hated using the facilities when the game was afoot. However, it was what was needed at this moment. After this needed relief and a thorugh self inspection in the mirror he returned. He took the long route back and so that he could approach her from behind and get the all important hand at the small of the back in.

In the overworked lights of the small bar on the corner of a busy downtown street he see a fresh mojito sitting on the bar in front of his stool.

His half cocked smile was replaced with the swagger of a plyer whose straight flush was met by an all in