Christian was wired. Jeeez uhhss Christ, was he wired. He attempted to watch one of the many flat screens that surrounded the entirety of the bar, though each one he chose, and he chose them in no pattern, seemed to peer back at him unkindly. Each screen claimed to offer a different college football game. Instead, they only hung from the two-toned upper walls of this human cirrhosis coliseum and stared back at him on an angle. Beneath these screens were the gladiators. The drinkers who never even considered not having a beverage. The flannel hung from their arms like weathered tarps draped across barren tree limbs, more hanging on for life than announcing any sort of arrival. They smoked cigarettes in shifts.
The people weren't the issue, though. The televisions weren't the issue, either. Christian looked at his shoes, his jeans, his shirt; brown dress shoes, blue jeans, and grey tee. No issues there. The large windows facing the street to his right reflected his face and posture, down to the knees anyway; shaved mostly clean, dark eyes, hair tightly trimmed and brown, approachable and open alignment. He reassured himself that he looked fine.
"Too much fucking coffee." he must have said aloud, because the waitress who was suddenly in front of him nodded in the I feel ya kind of way. She also asked if he'd like another drink. He considered it, said yes, and was soon rewarded with a vodka-soda. That was his second drink in half an hour. The third one was on an even tighter schedule.
It arrived only minutes before his blind date. Really more of a meetup and have a drink and see where it goes than a date. This gave them both the option of backing out after a couple of minutes with no damage and no added baggage. The idea of being able to scrap it quickly had appealed to Christian so he agreed and now found himself wondering if he was sweating through his shirt - particularly under his right arm, which had failed him in strenuous situations before. Another thing that weighed against him was that he had no game plan as far as conversation. In fact, he was having difficulty, as he watched her approach for the first time, recalling much of anything he had been told about her. She looked like her pictures for the most part. Taller though, and with hair that was more red than brown. Suddenly she was close.
They hugged awkwardly, she smelled like a girl, and his armpit was dry.
That was the best it would get for either of them for some time.
