4 to Go (response to "3 TO GET READY")

[Response to 1st challenge  @ http://inspiredbyart.gather.com/]

4 to Go

Anna leans her cheek on her forearms and stares past the bartender to the cash register under the rows of bottles. How much of her paycheck is in that drawer? Again. But she has, at last, got the feeling she's caught the tail of that kitten she's been chasing -- that soft, warm simplicity of mind that asks no question that can't be answered with an acquiescent smile. Every little drop counts -- and the years fall away as the glasses drain.

Ben, on his own squeaky barstool, focuses not on the cash register, but on the bartender himself. Finally. He's spent the past half hour pretending to watch the rest of the room through the big mirror behind the bar, squinting vaguely at the shadowy figures visible through the haze of smoke in the dimly-lit, low-ceilinged long room. But the only one that counts is behind the bar in a blue oxford button-down and 501's, tight and faded just right. Knows how to pour. Ben doesn't have his name, just thinks of him as five-o', because the guy needs a shave. Well, not really. But he does need something else, and after the next shot, Ben's going to tell him exactly what that is. Or at least, he'll tell one of him.

Cassie wonders if she should order Don -- Don? -- no, Dan. Dan? Whatever. Should she order him one more pint? Really, there's still time, maybe he's just running late. He could still show. Her lipstick must be gone by now, she can see it on the rims of Don's other empties. Fix her makeup. No room here on this counter. Some bartender, that guy -- shouldn't he be picking up the empties before he brings the new glasses? Jeez.

"City on fire..." The room is hot, the night is hot, the whole summer hasn't had a breeze in it anywhere, and the nights are still and wet; all comes down to one bead of perspiration sliding from the brow down the side of the nose to be swiped at feebly with the hand not holding the glass.