floating in a tin can

jewsinspace
spaceodyssey

It's snowing outside but it's warm in the bar, where there's low light and a low level of noise this evening. Much more pleasant than the skating rink which had been Michael's first idea; Bryant Park was overwhelmingly crowded, and he and Wolfgang made up their minds to leave after taking a single look at it. Michael is fairly sure Wolfgang isn't disappointed—they'd been skeptical of the whole idea of skating, saying that ‘strapping knives to your feet and trying to move around’ was insane—and going to a bar afterward had been their idea, specifically somewhere quiet.

The atmosphere in here is something different than he's used to, but it's interesting, he thinks he likes it. He'd heard about it at some point, that it was famous as a literary bar, and that seemed like a Wolfgang-ish thing. A clever thing. As for drinking, it isn't something Michael does much, but it's a holiday, and a date, and it's winter, so he'll let himself relax a little.

Officially it's their third date, but they've seen a good amount of each other since going to the beach. Michael's been stopping by the shop every so often after work, hanging around to chat or showing off some new trick he's learned. Texting is alright (they do that a lot), but it's not as good as the real thing. He's found himself getting more acutely lonely than he used to, and it's bothersome and strange and makes him feel needy. He's not sure what to do about it.

But it's not a problem tonight, because right now they're sitting next to each other at a small, narrow table near one of the exits. It faces the wall, built into it like a mini-bar, and hung right in front of them are various pieces of art. Michael has a tumbler of rum. It's his second one and he's sipping slow, face feeling fuzzy. He's very aware of Wolfgang close beside him, their shoulders nearly pressed together.