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With her husband still in the Psychiatric Ward following his mental breakdown, she felt the need to go in for a few hard drinks.

        With the trunk of his car still full of his belongings thrown out of the house
        by his wife, he really had no better place to go.

Her reflection in the mirror behind the bar confirmed the feeling that she had hit rock bottom.

        Having not frequented a bar in the twenty years since his son was born, 
        he wasn’t sure what drink to order.

She didn’t bother to wipe away the tear that travelled down her cheek and dropped onto the top of the bar.

        He wasn’t aware that his mumblings were audible to the woman 
        sitting down two stools away.

“You’ve got that right.”

        “I’m sorry … what?”

“You said, ‘Life sucks’, and I agree.”

        “Huh – yeah, it sure does.”

The vacant stool between them provided enough buffer to freely dump their souls to a perfect stranger without feeling too imposed upon.  Then, finally, he occupied that stool so they could clink together their glasses in a toast to an unfair life.

She climbed out of bed, looked at the hotel clock which displayed the wrong time, and headed towards the shower.

        He looked under the covers to confirm that the clothes scattered 
        around the room were his.

She got dressed without saying a word, looked at him with a sad smile and walked out of the hotel room in a neighborhood she was not familiar with.

        He checked his phone to see if there were any missed calls from his wife … 
        there were none.

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