"You know what really pisses me off?" He was waving his cigarette in the air, painting wild silhouettes of smoky transience.
"What?" I didn't really care, to be honest, but at this hour, the bar was nearly deserted and any company was better than none.
"Myself." He hung his head dramatically and the loose, wet locks fell down past his forehead. It was raining outside, and his wool suit jacket still had water imprints.
I turned to him and raised my eyebrows. "Is that so?"
He rotated his head and stared at me, his mouth slightly agape like he was mocking what he apparently inferred as stupidity. Then, with obvious effort, he picked up his right hand and pointed at me with two fingers, the cigarette tucked between them. "Yes. It's all about the women."
I chuckled and returned to my drink. It was one of those epiphanies.
"No, listen." He seized his glass of whiskey and downed it in a gulp, slamming the glass on the counter. "Bartend! You! Another." Then he turned back to me. "I don't like women for who they are. I like women for, for..."
The bartender strolled up, rolled his eyes, and refilled the guy's glass. I gave the bartender one of those there's nothing we can do about it shrugs.
"I like women for what they stand for." He stood up, and with one hand against the bar counter, reached out and placed a firm grip on my shoulder. He tilted his head and stared up at my face with wide eyes. "I like women for what they stand for."
I glanced sideways at him. "You wanna sit down, man?"
He returned to his barstool and squinted his eyes, his hands dancing to some silent music. "Class. That's what some women stand for. Sex. Those are those other women. Brains! There are always those women." He lifted his glass and swirled the liquor around with deliberation.
I loosened my tie and rested my head on my elbow. This was some nut job. A typical nut job, but nut job nonetheless.
"You can see it." He was whispering now - well, more like hissing, actually. Some kind of loud whisper. "You're walking down the street and bam! There's a sex woman. There's a brains woman!" He sipped a little of his drink and smacked his lips noisily. "It's all there! The whole world, in women."
Now I couldn't tell if the man was just drunk or plain crazy. I turned my head a little to face him, just in case he started attacking me, or falling off his barstool, or something. Nut jobs are unpredictable.
"There's a money woman! And there! There's a city woman. And a sunset woman! An art woman. A flower woman. A streetlight woman." His eyes were wide open, and he held onto his seat like it was blowing about wildly in a storm.
I glanced down at his hand. There was a shiny gold wedding band hugging his ring finger. "And what about your woman? What kind of woman is she?"
He spread his hand out and studied it, as if in disbelief. Then he seized the ring, tore it off his finger, and slammed it onto the counter in front of me. "Here. You have it." He stared up at me. "I have...I have the perfect woman." He was breathless.
I was dumbfounded. "But...if you have the perfect..."
He got off his barstool and stood up straight. Then he tightened his tie and brushed his hair back. "The world is in her eyes." His voice no longer slurred.
I suddenly became worried that he was sober.
"And in men, there is nothing." His eyes pierced through my vulnerability. "I am nothing; I stand for nothing. I am imperfect, I am flawed. I am but the crying broken statue scattered about the dusty ground. I am but the crow flailing about with broken wings. I am but the ashes of Pompeii beneath the sandals of a tourist. And now, now, I shall take a cab home, confess my adulterous behavior, and ride like a gallant warrior into the night."
I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know whether to marvel at his brave plan or to laugh at his overblown metaphors. How gallant could a flightless crow be?
Without another word, he spun on the heel of his shoe and marched out the bar into the merciless world. It was pouring outside.
I picked up the gold ring and read the inscription. June 11th, 1993. That would be...tomorrow. I heard his voice echoing. And in men, there is nothing.
The bartender came over and nodded at my glass. "Want another?"
The subway rumbled overhead and made the bottles tremble. "No thanks." I let out a breath. "I've had enough tonight."
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