The Tequila was relatively quiet tonight. The music was turned low and the cigarette smoke in the air was heavy. Everyone in the building were facing the stage as "artists" pour out their troubled emotions. Every performance was followed by clapping from the crowd and a "I feel your pain girlfriend" from the fat lady in the front. Any males who even stands on stage is immediately swooned upon. The males somehow seems a rare commodity in this event. Which is exactly why Murphy was in the building.

It wasn't that Murphy couldn't get a girl... wait... scratch that... Murphy could not get a girl, no matter how hard he tryed. He couldn't understand it he definately wasn't ugly with his deep set brown eyes, his trimmed goatee, and his charming smile. He pulled off the rugged look very well with his brown leather biker jacket and faded jeans. But nevertheless, Ol'Murph was girl-less.

So here he is, pretending to listen to poetry, waiting for the right moment to talk to some girl and inevitably be dumped by her. He was leaning on the bar with a beer hanging loosy in his hand. He looked into the crowd, he looked at the door, he looked at the bartender but he never once looked on stage.

Slowly, a girl in a white spagetti strapped tank top and dark green jeans made her way to the bar, caramel eyes watching as the next poet began their ryhmes. She sat several pedestals down, not taking her gaze from the artist as she asked for another Mike's Hard Lemonade, setting her last empty bottle on the counter for disposal. As the bartender gave her yet another bottle she tied back her hair in a low messy knot and raised the bottle to her pale bronze painted lips.

Murphy watched the woman enter the bar. This is my chance, he said to himself as he headed in her direction. "So, what's a pretty dame like you doing in a place like this?" He asked.

She hiccuped slightly and gently set the bottle on the counter, looking to him. She half smiled and hiccupped again, lifting the bottle once more as the bartender gave a disapproving glare and then decided to act as if he cared less by turning away. "Getting.." She hiccuped once more. "..shitfaced."

Oh yes, in one of her charming moods. It had been months since her last drink and durring the time had maintained a fun and sweet personality, though other things had gone on recently to drive her back to the festivities of alcohol.

"Oh..." He said, not fully understanding so he spoke his thoughts out loud. "Girls do that?" A revolution in his mind, what has this world come to? Where chicks drink themselves stupid...

One swig, she took from the bottle and grimaced, contemplating it once more before setting it down and pushing it away with a finger, still half full. She took in a heavy breath and nodded. "Yea..yea. Some do. I haven't been drunk for months though.. Gad." She frowned and ran her fringers through her hair as she bowed her head.

"So, why drink now?" Murphy was not one to pry but he was extremely bored with the poetry session. As those darn angsty teenagers pour their fevered soul on the floor and stepped all over it, Murphy's brain usually tried to scratch it's way out of his head. In other words, he had a headache...

She sighed. "Shit happened. My third year of college.." This was partially true, though the fact was, her application into a school was rejected, though she couldn't admit that for she had to keep the bar man thinking she was of drinking age. She was only eighteen, be nineteen in a few months and she managed herself a drink by using an expired ID card of her sister's. They looked nearly identical when only observed by a quick glance, and the card was expired so Tarence wouldn't be needing it or miss it. Ollen continued, "..and I got kicked out and then I lost my job." Ollen groaned, rubbing her forehead with the side of her hand. "Now, I'm here, away from family and friends, because I need a new job." She shook her head and half chuckled, in the way people would when thye couldn't believe it couldn't get worse.