It's 10 till midnight and the bar is thinning out. I sit alone. My lukewarm Bud-Light sweats into my hands, making them clammy yet moisterized. It's a weird sensation, but I've had 12 of these things so I don't really feel it.
All night the music has been some bastard love-child of techno and classical. It's been stabbing me in the ear repeatedly as some fool violaist shreds it Baroque style over a thumping cacophony of cowbells and gym whistles. But that's all about to change. The staff is taking over. They're ready to rock.
First comes a little Foreigner. Then the door swings open to the kitchen and I catch a glimpse of the cooks gathered in a circle, all wearing their sunglasses...at night. There are high fives and secret shots going around and suddenly my 1/4 of a can of backwash isn't providing me the company that I need. That's when I hear it.
"Who's gonna drive you home....tonight"
Oh yea. Now we're talking. Straight for the good stuff. I love this song. Hell, who doesn't. Metaphor, stacked upon metaphor upon metaphor....OK maybe that's too many metaphors. But at there's at least two in there that I can make out in my drunk as shit fatigued state. It's speaks to me. It makes me feel my humanity. My sadness. May aloneness.
And then she sits down. Maybe I'm not really alone. Wait. Oh yea. The lady just went to the bathroom. I remember her words well. "I'll be right back". Yea lady. you stayed true to your word. I appreciate that. I appreciate you.
All these thoughts and more run through my head as I stare across the table into her big brown eyes and mouth one word, and one word only.
The Cars - "Drive"