Some Time Away She hadn't been there terribly long. She had none of the marks of a girl who'd spent overly long in a bar. She wasn't drunk, wasn't even mildly tipsy, despite the glass of amber liquid that sat half-empty in front of her. Still, Rosie looked a bit despondent as she dragged her finger through a shallow mist of moisture left by her sweating glass. She traced her name in the little puddle, then rubbed it away with the heel of her hand.
Long moments passed. What she thought about was anyone's guess, and if one had asked, Rosie herself wouldn't have been able to say. Lazily, her mind drifted amongst topics like a butterfly moving from flower to flower. If there was any sense of urgency, it would have been a bee. But Rosie wasn't really the bee type.
Her finger drew a curlicue, before she leaned back and rubbed the pattern out of existence again. Then she raised her glass and brought it to her lips, an action punctuated by the clinking of ice. She drained the remainder of her drink, and replaced it to the table. She used to love her Liberty. Now it just felt like an endless stretch of pretending, or at least that's the way she felt once she had a couple of drinks in her.