Untethered

"You don't look like much these days."
"Sorry to disappoint you, really am," I say.
"You can see it in your eyes. Your eyes say a lot. What happened to the guy I used to know. No, you don't look like much these days." He says it with some satisfaction.
"My luck ran out a long time ago. It's all about getting where I need to be now."
"That sounds like a blues song."
"Maybe the blues would be my perfect soundtrack, then."
I pick up my bourbon and coke, my blues drink, and swallow hard, then lay it back on it's soggy napkin. The music, the bass is loud in the room, people scurrying all around.
"What happened to your cheek?"
My hand goes to the left side of my face and rubs.
"Work." I drink.
"Is it really that bad? What kind of work do you do?"
I choke down the liquor. "The kind that requires scars." If he sees I'm visibly upset, he's happy with it and smiles. "How's Marie?"
"Easier than I thought."
"What?"
"She's up north. Went home for a bit."
"What did you say before that?"
"She's fine."
"Glad to hear it. I was curious."
"She doesn't talk about you too much. We have fun."
I choke down a gulp. "You should get a drink. It helps you become less of an asshole."
"Asshole? What do you mean? It's not like you loved her."
He grins at me, something ridiculous.
At that point I'd had enough and I let loose, let fly, fists pounding, knocking him to the ground.
Someone pulls me away.
I readjust my shirt and he gets up, sniffs, blood running down his lip, stares at me, reels back and then it's my turn to go down.
The bartender is dragging me out and I land on the curb, get up, readjust my shirt and collar.
"The police will be here in a minute," he says.
"That's fine," I dust off my pants. "I'm satisfied."
And I walk away.
Maybe that's the way it should happen. He leans on the table, staring, grinning something ridiculous. And I can only drink.
The next day I decide to run, to clear my mind, then decide I'm too tired to run and settle on running errands, and I drive.
I drive too fast down the road. And think. And she's somewhere in the back of my mind, untethered.
Open windows and the wind is splashing my face, sun bathing my face, and I wish to myself that I was content with the world. I don't feel like much these days.
Stopped at a red light a pretty face pulls up next to me, smiles, and I smile back, but it is an empty smile. I have my sunglasses on and she can't see my eyes.
I think, then, about what he said and think that I really am finally dead.