1.

The café in which he sat was nothing of note. It was not as clean as desired, the environment was loud, and the food didn’t rate well except to the tongues still watered by copious amounts of alcohol. Vance wasn’t there for any of those criteria though. He sat in his booth alone, reflecting on the work week; a week consumed by suits, ties, and smiles that were never sincere. That insincerity with which he had to deal with on a daily basis in this new world had left a stain upon him. He often, much to his dismay, found that a person smiling was, by default now, a person lying, and not just those wearing suits on the 8 to 5.

Vance’s sudden transition from the quiet, honest, and up-front country life of his upbringing to the skyscrapers and chaos of the city had taken too much of a toll on him. Worse was that he knew this fact, and couldn’t counter it. He had made no friends that he trusted in his new life, and hadn’t dated a woman in many months. He had made acquaintances, several in fact, but there was always a hesitant distaste; a distrust of everyone that began within a few months of his employment and new life.

 His career was as fruitful as he could have ever imagined, but it had come with a price. The idea of his future had turned, upon realization, from a pure and shining promise to a corrupt, deceitful game of facades and handshakes that meant little to nothing. Someone offering their hand here in this world meant that they felt they had just gotten the better of you, and were requesting your acknowledgement of that fact. Relationships here were built on what you had to offer for the others’ benefit, and how many lies they had to sell you to attain it. In short, to a fault he acknowledged, nothing was what is seemed anymore. Everything wore a shade of rust; every smile was crooked.

In the past year and a half, he had shed his youthful sense of trust and sincerity, and adopted the ways of the game. Not only did he adopt them, he excelled at this life. These days, he questioned the sincerity of his own smile in the mirror, or his outstretched hand, and he resented himself for it. His tie hung loose like success off-the-clock, but felt like the gallows. These were his thoughts while he sat in the diner, staring feverishly into his glass of water. Here and there he looked out to assess the tone of red of the setting sun until it was lost somewhere behind the Walter Tower and replaced by the glow of neon.

“How did you beat me here?” Vance looked up to find his co-worker, Eddie walking towards his table.

“I finished up the Richards file early; figured I wasn’t starting another today.”

“I hear that. I was-“

“Hear what?” Eddie was cut off by Gabi and Marcus making their entrance, other co-workers and the last two members of his after-work frequent acquaintances.

“Oh, Vance was just telling me how gorgeous you look today in that number you’re wearing. Is it new?”

“Ha-Ha. Shut the f**k up. Who is eating?”

No one responded. Gabi ordered a round of beers instead and followed with small talk. She was the talker, as well as the off-limits looker. The crowd around them slowly, but not quietly, changed from that of fellow suits who had homes to go to and elders at supper to that of the folks who were just getting started, the loose-tie professionals and other seekers. Vance began to feel slightly at ease as the beer soaked in among more similar company.

“Can we not talk about the work day, Gabi?”

     “What’s wrong? What happened today?”

     “Richards happened to him.”

     “No. Nothing happened. I’m just over it. I’m off the clock.”  

     “Aren’t we all…”

 

     “Apparently not” Vance said, pointing a sarcastic glance at Gabi. Everyone laughed except Gabi.

     “…Says the guy still wearing a tie…”

     Vance ripped his tie off and threatened to strike her leg with it beneath the table.

     “Ok, Ok. Cheers to being off the clock!”