Day 12. 6:53 PM.

Not new to this place. I've resided here long enough to acquaint myself to the dull walls; Starbucks' employees, the local library lady who had stopped aging at 23, and the old grocery clerk.

It's a stuffy, old-smelling room. I haven't met my roommate yet, but I hope I do before the dormitory is all settled. Hope I have one…

I've managed to get a job at the local bar. That's where I spend most of my time, and hope to do the same 'til school re-opens. Of all the things that I notice everyday, there is one woman my eyes await. Every evening. She's barely 21, and is here for drinks every evening. She's not exceedingly gorgeous. You wouldn’t fall for her at first sight. She’s a heavy drinker- an obstinate arguer. But her fallacies- they intrigue me. She can argue with anyone and everyone, and it can range from kittens to world problems. Nothing cute in the way she is.

9:35pm.

I don't work this shift very often. I am, tonight. I see all sorts of people here. Teens trying alcohol for fun; ladies in their 50s drinking out red wine bottles to the last drop; young souls depressing over their lives; partiers. I fear the woman would already be drunk and gone an hour before this shift begun. Funny how I am wrong. She is late tonight. I see her walk in, dressed in leather pants and a black shirt. She struts down with her studded pumps click-clacking the floor. I watch every step of hers with interest, absolutely ignoring the old man asking for another drink. I fill his glass before he begins to pester me. As my eyes search her in the dull red light, I find the woman flipping the hair strand that itches her cheek. I know she'll soon be in front of me, ordering her drink. Just before she gets to the counter, she bumps into a fine looking man. I'm busy fancying the lady, but he catches the little bit of the attention that I have left to give. An absolute hunk, he stumbles and turns around to see who bumped into him.

Embarrassed, she hastily walks away before he catches her. She's finally here. Her mascara dried like cracks down her cheek. She presents herself as a strong. Confident. I don't know a bit about what she's been through, but I know she's drowning the pain with alcohol. She awkwardly laughs to look fine and asks for five shots of tequila in her sexy yet shaky voice.

She's fairly drunk, so I work up the courage to ask her name knowing that she wouldn't remember the awkward talk even if there is one.

"Celeste", she utters.

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