The Man at the Bar
He went there to disappear. His back to the door, he was just another nobody sitting at a bar. The beer held no reflection. The splintered images from spotlights and mirrors had no consistency. And the sounds of voices and music and laughter drowned the cries of memory.
She went there for love; red wine in her glass, and a stillness that settled like a veil as she sat down.
“Truth is…” he said, hesitant.
“Truth is.” She held the wine-glass close; still surface, no ripples, no reflections. “Truth is, we’re alike.” They sank their teeth into a loving embrace.