The music from the house speakers was loud. John could feel the bass notes in his chest. He stepped out of the way of the incoming humans. He surveyed the room.
The bartender looked like she was twelve years old, which was why she worked here. She cultivated a crop of red hair, which she currently had pulled back into a low ponytail. An armored smile propped up a freckled face. The bar had more messes than the loli could get to, even this early in the evening. John didn’t want a drink; he kept looking, trying not to get distracted by his surroundings.
His eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room, and then he saw her. A pale brunette sat alone at a table. John would be bringing this woman home tonight. He waded through leaning, slouching, and tipping patrons on chairs and walls while trying not to touch anyone. If any of them were covered in malignant germs, he did not want to find out irreversibly.
At the lonely woman’s table, John pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. She didn’t look at him. He looked at her, though, and saw an ill-fitting green dress. Too small. He saw smeared lipstick on her chin. He was unsure how it had gotten down there, but he decided that asking would not bring about the moment he wanted.
“Hey,” yelled John, “are you here alone?”
The woman spun her head. She finally showed John her face. She had two black eyes from running mascara. Lipstick had also made its way to her nose. There were snot stains on her upper lip. He figured the back of her hands had matching stains. Yes, he was going to bring her home tonight.
“You okay?” he asked.
On cue, the woman had a mild seizure. Most of her body convulsed rhythmically. Her arms looked at risk of falling off. It was clear that she would not be able to stop herself. John reached out, gripped her shoulders, and lightly squeezed. A long-distance hug. He wanted to avoid contact, but what was a sibling to do?
