Ludlow

I was rinsing my face with cold water in the mens bathroom. I had just finished my weekly set at a sticky-floored comedy dive on Ludlow. Like any other Thursday night, there was a mixture of neighborhood locals, mostly drunks who turned into late-night creeps, and the usual lot of New York City tourists who left after their complimentary drink.

I sat down and drank a cold beer. “Someone left this for you,” said Craig, smacking down a white business card on the sticky wooden bar. “Maybe it’s your big break,” he said with a menacing smile and left me alone. I like to fuck in your office, I thought without saying. 

I finished my beer and noticed how white the card was. I don’t trade business cards on a daily basis, or ever, but somehow this object shone like a beacon of light. Maybe it was the poorly-lit wooden bar, or the worn-in Guinness coaster next to it that amplified its presence. Either way, I picked up the pearly white, sharp-edged card and read the inscription on the front. 

Q.

I flipped it over. 

Seeking human connections.

“What do you make of this?” I asked Daniele. She was behind the bar drying moisture off newly washed glasses with a towel. She held a glass up to the dim-light and placed it on the shelf.

“I don’t know how you do it,” I said, tossing her the card. “Half of these idiots wouldn’t know if you served them gin or rubbing alcohol. Let alone complain about a dirty glass.”

She ignored my comment and picked up the business card. “Mysterious,” she said. “No phone number.”

She ran her fingers along the edges of the card, weighing it in her hand. “Solid.” She swiped it across her neck like a knife. “Even dangerous. Do you think I could slice lemons with it?”

“Go ahead.”

She read it once again while pouring me a healthy glass of bourbon. This was the not so subtle hint – there would be no sex tonight.

“Maybe Craig’s right,” she said, using the card as a coaster for my drink. “Might be your big break.” I gave her an exasperated look, coughing out a ha sound. I was tired anyway.