“So there was this man, rather tall man, dark hair and sunglasses, average Casanova, lady’s man sorta guy. And this man walks into my bar.”
“Maybe he should have ducked”
The buzzed man’s friends gave a collective groan at their buddy’s one-liner. The bartender, a balding gentleman with a protruding stomach, continued his anecdote.
“Well, this man comes in and pulls up a seat next to this gorgeous doll at the counter and starts to chat with her a bit. Happens to be that this gal he was talking to is my best friend’s wife. “
“So did’ya kick the guy out? Seeing how he was trying to get in bed with your best friend’s girl.” Said a second voice.
“Didn’t have to. She told the guy straight out that she was a married woman Threatened to call the police even.”
“And what did the guy say?” asked a third.
“Now, that’s the funny bit. So the man tells the girl that her being married was no problem. In fact, he claimed he slept with every married woman around town. Anyways, she slapped him so hard, it nearly knocked him out. I swear he’ll have a wedding band bruise on his cheek for a month. Talk about irony”
The three men roared with laughter, especially the comedian of the group. Sometime about two in the morning, the drinking buddies downed their last drinks and stepped out into the falling rain. They split at the curb taking separate routes home. The last one on the sidewalk when the bartender shut off the lights was the first man to speak.
He walked to the curb and stuck up his thumb for a taxi to take him back to his north side apartment. A few minutes later, a cabbie stopped outside the bar and rolled down his window.
“Where will it be?”
“Train station” the man decided. Dripping wet he opened the door and climbed into the cab’s rear seat.
“Hey, buddy, you should really use an umbrella. It looks like you’ve been crying.” said the cabbie chuckling at his own humor.
“Didn’t bring one” replied the man. The cab driver didn’t try to continue the conversation.
The man got out at the train station and dashed to the bathroom. He went into the last stall and locked the door. The man slid to the floor with his back against the wall, and from his pocket came a folded paper decorated with little ringlets of dried tears. He read the note yet another countless time since finding it that morning.
“Dear former,
There’s someone else, and we’re skipping town.
Love you,
Janie
P.S. You aren’t as funny as you think you are.”
Doubled over, the man howled out a mournful tune through broken sobs. He had decided to come to the train station to wonder what train his one love climbed aboard as she left his life.
This is not a poem, but it is a short story for contest I'm working on, and I would like to hear some view on it.