Changing the Subject

My inspection was expired. It was biting cold out. I had just enough money for rent and half a mag of Moscato. 

I could paint. Or play music. Or read. Or something. But there was never any motivation or energy or desire to do anything at all. The sun crosses the sky. I stare at the walls. 

The big drama was over and now the days were empty, entirely.

The mag emptied. I left into the cold. 

Same corner of the same empty bar.

"I'm glad to see you," one of the three normal bartenders says. "but, don't take it weird, but, I'm worried about you."

"Do something about it," I say and regret it just as quickly. 

She doesn't say anything for a moment, only curls her mouth slightly downward, then; "Are you okay?"

"I'm not saying I'm not, or I am, but, what makes you ask?"

She is wiping a glass with a rag. Finishes, sets it down and picks up another. "I guess I don't know you super well, but, you know, you've been coming in for a couple years off and on and I can tell the difference and lately, it's just all been... this look. I mean, it's cool if you don't want to talk, but I think you're a good person, from what I know. I don't know. I like you. I know that people don't reach out sometimes, so I'm reaching out."

"Kind of you."

She sets the glass down. "I hope someone would reach out to me, if I was feeling a way."

I don't know how to respond to any of it. I sip at the beer. 7.5%. Some IPA. Doesn't matter which. 

"Anyone buy a painting?" I ask.

"Yours?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know," she says, turning to look toward one of them hanging on a wall on the other side of the bar. "Not that I know of. You priced them pretty high."

"I got bills."

"Wouldn't you sell more if you priced them lower?"

"Maybe. But..." I take another drink. "...people see a high price and they assume it's worth the high price. It's all fake. Even if they hate it, they think someone priced it, or evaluated it, or something. But no one really does. It's fake. All of it. Might as well fake being worth something, instead of..." I wave my arm to a few other paintings hanging nearby, priced much lower and also not sold, "...just advertising how worthless I actually am."

She nods. "True, I guess. I just always feel silly charging anything for my stuff, so the idea of pricing it high makes me feel really weird, like I'm stealing from them."

"If they can drop a grand on a painting, they deserve to be stolen from."

"Fair point."

"Do you have anything up here right now?" I ask.

"Not this time. Maybe in the next show. I haven't really been, I don't know, in the mood to show anything lately. Work, this place, has been draining me."

I've changed the subject.