For No Reason

						For No Reason
	The curtains were drawn and the windows were open at 420 West Pike Street. There was a movie playing as I sat against the screen door in the darkness, blowing smoke into the night. She sat on the far end of the couch. I inhaled and I watched her fingers deftly move across her phone. I exhaled and she met my gaze momentarily before turning back to the movie.

	I finished my cigarette and flicked it into the yard through a hole in the screen. Staring down into my glass, I shook it lightly, watched the lime swirl and listened to the glorious sound of ice against glass. I took a drink,walked to the couch and sat down opposite her. She made no move. I picked up the remote and paused the movie. She glanced at me and then back to her phone.

	“You hungry?” I asked.

	“No. Not really,” she said. Her eyes never looked up.

	I took another drink and picked up the remote, my finger hovering over the play button.

	“What’s wrong, foxy?” I asked.

	“You always pick these movies! These sad, depressing fucking movies. You always pick them and I know you’re trying to be a writer but it’s always about you!” Her eyes were livid and I felt relieved. For the first time in ages I had made her feel something again.

	“Pick the movies then, I don’t care.” I finished my drink and stood up, walked into the kitchen to pour another. I dumped out the lonely ice and freshened up my glass, reached for the bottle of Tito’s.

	“Jim, stop it!” she yelled. I looked into the living room and she was looking at me, actually looking at me this time.

	“I’m not that drunk,” I replied.

	“No, I don’t care... Please just stop!” she exclaimed. I kept pouring the drink. It only took one more to kill the bottle. We finished the movie and went to bed and I thought it just another night.

						***

	It was a week later that the situation took on a new light. I was sitting on the steps of our house, as we used to call it, watching her stuff the bits and pieces of two and a half years into a silver Malibu. That car had the imprint of my face in the passenger door; a relic of yet another drunken night. I allowed myself a momentary laugh at the thought. Our dog sat in the passenger seat, looking out the window at me. She slammed the trunk shut. It sounded final.

	That would be the last time I saw her. I looked at the drink in my hand for a moment and I thought about pouring it out. The car sped off into the evening and I watched the tail lights sink into the distance. There was no reason to quit now, no reason to pour it out. I finished my drink and went inside, poured another and sat down on the couch. It was the only thing I had left to do.