Last call

We sit silently. She stares deeply into her empty glass, shuffling the ice around with the thin straw. “Hmm,” she says. I sit and wait for her to say something else. She continues to shuffle the ice. I sense our 4 month torrid affair is coming to a halt. She expels a drawn out sigh and guilty glare. “It’s not you, it’s me,” she lies. The one hundredth minute and two more alcoholic elixirs brings the evening to an end.