Someone Already Having a Rough Night

Sitting on the curb on the sidewalk, outside of the bar, is a black-haired girl, wearing a black spaghetti strap t-shirt, some jean shorts, and some strappy heels.

I wouldn't take a second glance, heading into the bar, but as I'm walking up, she is looking down at her phone, before yelling indiscriminately and putting her phone back in her back pocket.

She looks up at me, getting the black hair out of her face, showing off an angular face, lots of makeup, and a nose ring. “What the fuck are you looking at,” she says, obviously upset.

“Somebody having a rough night,” I respond, trying to make sure things don't escalate.

“It was going gloriously a couple of hours ago, then my goddamned bullshit friends decided to leave without telling me, and my douchebag of a boyfriend won't respond to my texts, because he's too fucking busy at a concert, to give two shits about me.”

I shrug and say, “that sure does seem to suck. I've had those nights before. Hope you figure it out.”

Then, I begin to turn to head toward when the entrance of the bar, when she says, “wait!”