Small Rips Lead to Ruptures

“I’ve got four words that’ll change your life,” Mole said. “Four simple words that may very well just lead you towards enlightenment.”

Skunk smirked and nodded. He caught the waitress’ eye and held up his empty pint.

“Just give me a minute,” he said.

With fresh beers in front of them, Mole continued.

“Necessity and invention and all that,” he said. “The other night I crawled home, drunk and starving and nursing wounds.”

“Wounds? Are you all right? When was this?”

“Monday, maybe,” Mole said. “I thought I’d found love, but love didn’t find me. Love was looking in the other direction. It crossed the street and disappeared before I could catch up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“A girl. Just some girl. One mystical apparition in a parade of sweet smelling smiles.”

Mole waved his hand, as if dissipating a cloud forming in front of him. He became quiet, the small rip in his heart throbbing with the memory. Skunk let him mope. He pulled a cigarette loose, and pointed to the door with his shoulder. Mole shook his head, saying something about quitting. People walked past, bumping the table. His pint tipped over and he caught it, but the beer splashed up over the rim, onto his hand. Mole gave it a shake and a smell and decided he better wash it.

When he came out, Skunk was sitting at the table, between two women.

They introduced themselves and returned to their conversation. Mole finished his beer and looked around the room. Cinder block walls, painted black, flyers for rock shoes pasted and corners curling and torn. Clink of glasses, bits of conversation drifted towards him, surrounded him, spinning quicker and quicker.

“Hey Mole, what were you saying before?” he asked.

“What?”

“Something about enlightenment, wasn’t it?”

The two women giggled with interest. They pushed their breasts across the table. Thinking this must be some kind of joke. Mole felt his cheeks go hot. The music stopped for what seemed to be an hour. All the lights dimmed, except one centered directly above him. The music went quiet.

“Oh that,” Mole said, spinning his empty glass. “Never mind, it’s nothing.”

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