Nish was already sitting nearby at the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey and scrolling through an article on her phone. It was one of the several accounts of the crash as written in the papers, and she was scouring them for any mention of any details she might have missed. So far, nothing she didn’t already know – horrific crash; 36 year old female driver – her – taken to hospital with critical injuries, and the 40 year old male passenger died at the scene. Good Samaritan called emergency services. Other car got away; please contact the police if you have any information. Blah, blah, blah. She sighed and closed the tab, letting her phone hit the bar and downing the rest of her whiskey. She glanced at the bartender to order another, and then noticed the woman sitting next to her with her beer and her flashy top.
“Hey,” she said, before she’d even thought about what she was going to say. “You from around here?” she’d already had a few shots of whiskey, so she was starting to pass buzzed straight into tipsy. When she wasn’t already an angry drunk or a depressed drunk or a flirtatious drunk, she was a talkative drunk. Tonight seemed to be option number four.