#gwichstarter

“Have you heard anyone losing their wallet on the Wes Craven Trivia Night in The Uncommons?” Gesturing the black leather wallet she’d been holding, she raised her brow. “I have checked but I couldn’t find an ID or a phone number. They don’t have any credit cards either. There’s only cash and a folded A4 paper. I assume it’s a letter or something like that.”

“You need some help with that?” 

It was a regular day for Maya, she woke up in the afternoon with a hangover, went to her favorite coffee shop and ordered a strong, black coffee, then made her way to her favorite shop Darling and bought bunch of dresses she wasn’t going to wear more than once or twice.   

“I’ve been watching this documentary about these women called the Santino Four for class. Cause I try not to party all the time while in college. And Holly shit. These women were damn near burned at the stake for being gay. I think I let my tough and handsome exterior break by crying and now admitting it made me cry. It really hit home for me y’know?”

        Too many years in this profession, drunkards with too much to say, the vomiters, the handful that think they’re smart and can jack bottles like their in a goddamn Double Tree bar, those thinking their kids were produced from some special sperm and the worst those fucking foreigners that leave zilch on a racked up tab. At wits end already when two old bags with crows claws on every corner of their faces women stuck in the Eisenhower era sat without so much as an acknowledgment to her, to end up waving to the male bartender at the other end. Groaning to herself, her words loud enough (maybe, depending if their hearing aides were turned up) “As if he’s got some Granny fetish. Long out of your prime ladies, long out of your prime...” When she took to the other end, hopefully with her last patron of the night. “What, you want him too? Trust me, he’s shit at cocktails. Can open a beer, that’s about it.” 

It could be said that in other parts of New York there were more “high class” comedy clubs. Comedy Cellar, did in fact feel like a cellar, not the kind of place any of the current humor kings and queens would perform. But Hannah liked it like that. She liked the tight space, the coziness, the drinks, the people hungry for an excuse to let out whoops of genuine laughter. The current performer had started out a little weak, but was now letting jokes fly with perfect timing, and Hannah found herself laughing so hard she almost slid sideways off her stool and into another patron.

“Should I drop $275 on an all-Slytherin box set?” Sure, she had a generous allowance monthly to get herself whatever it was she wanted, but did she need this? That was another question entirely. "Or is that like, too much? Would you get it?”