The beer in her hand still ice-cold; she empties the glass in one go. It hits the counter louder than expected. She doesn’t hear it though. Her train of thought’s catching up on her. What colleagues want, favors friends are always asking, comments made by family. Dad had a way of saying things. Comments full of envy no one noticed due to its unobvious layer of charm. Karen had learnt from a young age that pretty people can get away with anything. “What a waste of potential”, Ringo’s voice is ringing in her ear, melting with the mix-up of background bar noise and overly up-tempo techno beats. She looks to the stool on her right. He left his jacket. Something to take with me later, she thought, distracted. “Wasted potential”. The phrase was a favorite among Karen’s friends; cause that’s what she was. Old friends. New friends. Potential. Wasted. She gestured to the bartender. Tapped the counter with the palm of her hand. Her voice, hoarse. “One more!”.

Flash fiction piece inspired by Elliot Smith’s song “Between the Bars”.