She was a mess.

I sat down next to her and ordered another martini. This was going to be easy. I could tell from halfway down the bar she was as lonely as they get, and I was pretty damn sure I could fix that problem.

“Can I bluy you a drink?” I asked.

She looked me up and down and I thought she might just kiss me. They’re always just kissing me. Instead she turned towards me and put a hand on my shoulder when I went to pick up my drink. That’s right. She was touching me already.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I knew what that meant. It meant she wanted me to ask her the same thing. It meant that no matter how she looked and sounded, she was definitely, one-hundred-percent, for certain, not okay.

“Get this pretty lady a glass of wine,” I mumbled to the bartender. “Something good and shit.”

“And a glass of water,” she said with a gentle wave of her hand. Just what I thought. She had been there all afternoon, but she knows how to pace herself. Water between each drink. I used to remember that too.

“So, what’s your story,” she asked, accidentally pushing the glass of water towards me.

“I’d rather hear yours,” I replied. “I’d rather hear where you grew up and what your dreams were. I wanna know how you make the world more beautiful and what moves your heart. I want to hear you sing a song that reminds you of childhood, and I want to hear you smile again.”

She looked at me and just shook her head. Maybe I miss-judged her. Maybe she was more gone than I thought.

“I’m going to go meet a friend. Mike, will you watch out for this guy?”

Before I could say anything she was out the door and the bartender was pouring me another glass of water. I looked up at him as I polished off my drink in one gulp.

“Man, that girl is a mess. Know what I mean?”

Guy New York