It was Tuesday night, and that meant
Something different for each of them
Despite the scenic overlap he
Hoped she still desired

She did, and so off they went

And sat and drank, idle talk
She drank to feel nothing and
He drank to feel her and some nights
They both got what they wanted

He hoped this would be one of those nights

It was looking that way, and so
Despite his better, sober judgment
Yet another pitcher was ordered and
They continued their dance from
Topic to topic with an ease
Unobtainable only an hour before and
Things were really looking up
For the both of them

But she'd had more practice and
He saw black and she saw red
And just like that their illusion
Crumbled and there was
No longer any reason
To keep it going

So they left

And drove home in silence

The awkward kind where caustic
Thoughts battle in midair like the
Cloaked quadcopter drones of
Klingon children

And once again
Neither got what they wanted
But especially that night, and neither
Had the slightest clue why

But there was always next Tuesday night