solace bar

The bar was more congested than ever. As I wended my way to the bar-counter my fingers skimmed the pocket of the man in blue Tee and and in the blink of an eye his wallet was in my purse. The man barely noticed me and was on his way to the exit. I wormed my way out to the counter as the crow flies and parked myself in the stool.

Having been ousted from my job, without any rhyme or reason, my heart cried for some solace. I wish I could land a punch on my boss’s face. I swirled the whiskey round, tossed the glass off in one gulp and ordered for another. Trying not to fidget, I put on a brave face and cadged a cigarette from the bar-man and let him light it. Taking a drag I billowed grey smoke, swirling off, gradually, thinning out. It palliated my fears and anxiety. I cast a cursory glance at the surrounding. The babble was in unison with my mood.


Published by Smita Ray

Smita Ray is a mother of two lovely kids and hails from the northeastern town of India Gorakhpur. Her perpetual displeasure arising from the hypocrisy in the society underneath the semblance of religion, culture as well as the conditioning for compliance urged her to put down the impressions in her mind. In her spare time, she likes to have some culinary adventures with her kids.

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