Twelve Steps

She's moving her lips to the sound of somebody else's voice. I don't want to see you anymore, she tells me. So shut your eyes, I reply. I twist my glass between my fingers and watch the mark circle round. I think it would be better if you left, she says. There's a long pause as I wait for her to continue. The smoke pours from her nostrils, it rolls from her lips and red paint sticks to the filter. Whatever they said, that girl had some class. You won't get over me, she says, they never do. You'll regret this moment for as long as you have breath. I wait for more, but it seems she's run out of words. I eat a pistachio, dropping the shell in the glass. Her eyes are lowered, she evades my gaze. A girl walks past, slim, black dress, blonde hair, pock pock pock. I think for the moment of the power of a good pair of heels. My gaze sticks his thumb out and waits for a ride.