Last Call

11:30 on a Monday night. I've had this tie on since 7 this morning.  It's loosened now.  I rescued a few drinks from the bar, just nursing this last one now when the bartender shouts "Last Call".  He knows he won't get any trouble from me, I been coming here for 2 weeks now.  He knows what I drink and he keeps em coming till last call.  That's good because I get to be quiet.  I haven't spoken a word since I left my job at 5:10.  My boss doesn't mind the company card being used for my evening therapy, at the bar.  He understands.   The chair at the bar here is quite decent, it's those new ones you can lean back on but I just hover over my drinks and keep my head down.  I peak up every now and then to do the proverbial head nod that men do when they make eye contact, or to look at the owner of the peering eyes of the woman who wouldn't mind if I switched seats for the one beside her.  Music, light chatter, laughs and tickling glass of my working bartender keep my ears company.  It's like an intermission, a worm hole that I slip into everyday on the way home.  And every time I'm about to slip into a blank void and forget where I am, my chair gets a slight bump from someone passing or a hint of a new perfume find its way to my nose and my sanity gets a jolt that I am still on this planet.  I keep my drinks light so I can take everything in as the hours pass, but it's time to go home now.  Work in the morning. She should be sleeping by now or just about going to bed.  I wish I could stay here but I don't need to.  I wish I could tell her but I don't know how to.  There's not much left to save, this time.  The division, they unity, the cover, the sides that need to be taken, the faces that need to be saved, the money.  The last form of communication, signing the credit card receipt and the last head nod of the night. Till tomorrow I suppose.