Company of strangers.
I remember my first night working in Manhattan. It was an unusually quiet Friday in Hell’s Kitchen. I found myself speaking with two handsome, well dressed men from India. They make frequent business trips to New York, and they liked my smile. I sat between the two of them adoring me, bringing me wine, caressing my shoulders; they were drunk with scotch, and my presence. I felt...power. They went out for a cigarette and asked if I would join. As I waited at the front for my coat, a familiar face walks past me on the phone. In an instant I shiver and hide myself from view. I don’t need another look, I know who it is. Have they come to haunt me? I’ve moved across the country to New York, only to see my ex from California on my first day of work. I left him for a reason and was not about to revisit the past. It’s a shock when a ghost comes to visit, like walking into a room of broken glass and mirror. My feet have healed, and I’ve swept it away. His broken reflection was of no use. I packed my bag and left to a small bar in the East village, preferring the company of strangers and my glass of absinthe.