Matter of Mind over Meter.

I watched the meter move in a circular motion around until it disappeared.
Moments later it reappeared and then disappeared again.
I wondered how many times it had been rotating since I had arrived that morning.
I opened the book of matches in my hand and lit one.
After lighting my cigarette I threw the match into the bucket and it made a small hiss as it hit the water inside.
The meter had gone around three more times since I had lit the match.
I noticed the book of matches for the first time as I inhaled.
Poetry was written on the inside of it.
Julie.
Julie was a bar regular and when she had no one to talk too, she would write things inside of matchbooks at the bar.
It reminded me of a song I had once heard that went something like, "and there's a matchbook in her purse, where she writes down her poetry."
That was Julie, or Jules, as I called her when I couldn't read her handwriting the first time I had noticed her poetry.
I think it adds character to the bar.
Just like the doorman who made chalk drawings while he checked IDs.
10 more times the meter went around.
I wasn't even half way through my cigarette.
I wondered what time it was.
It didn't matter, I'd be there until close anyway, I should be worried about when everyone would leave.
Still, since I had arrived at 10 that morning, I wondered if I had hit the 15 hour mark.
I counted in my head in time with the meter.
It would have to be 1 am if I had been here 15 hours.
Yea, I had hit that mark.
Cigarette was half way done, my break wouldn't be too much longer.
I dreaded going inside.
A gust of wind blew a hair across my cheek. It was as if God was trying to pat my cheek to tell me I could do it.
It would only be another 3 hours at most. The night air felt good on my face and hands. They seemed to be on fire with the exertion of lifting boxes and the Red Bull and Jägermeister running through my veins.
I had taken 3 shots so far.
In my head I figured out the units of alcohol against my body mass.
I must be drunk.
I felt slap happy.
I need to go away, even for a day, and tell no one.
My own secret.
I realized that my leg had fallen asleep and I was still staring directly at the meter. I moved and it seemed as if I moved back into reality with the shift of my weight.
The music inside pounded like the heartbeat of a runner.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Someone opened the kitchen door and the music grew louder before softening again with the shut of the door.
How many people would make bad decisions tonight because of Red Bull and Jägermeister?
"Not me," said the little red hen.
What a lie. The red hen should have a scarlet "A" tattooed on her chest.
My cigarette was about to go out.
I straightened my back. It popped twice.
I stretched my legs and my ankle popped. It hurt, and I could continuously pop it if I wanted too.
An old skiing accident that I never fixed and my right ankle would always pop on demand because of it.
I threw my cigarette into the bucket.
Hiss.
I craned my neck around to the door.
Pop.
I opened the door.
Boom. Boom.
My break was 49 silent turns of the meter.