The woman frowns before plopping down beside him and taking a swig from his beer. "What's wrong?" she asks, gulping back a hiccup, "What's wrong with talkin'?" She laughs, letting her head fall onto the counter.

The man ignores her and pries his drink from her fingers. "You're drunk," He mutters under his breath. "Go home."

Barbara turns to look at him, her red hair spilling over the sticky counter. "And you're a smart man," she says, giggling. "I didn't even know I was drunk..." her words slurred together. "So smaart." She leans towards him once again, but misjudging the space between them, nearly falls from her seat.

"Watch it!" The man catches her shoulder before she topples over.

"Lady, you should go home. Sleep it off." He shakes off the hands she puts on his jacket.

Undeterred, she continues. "Now what's wrong with talkin'? I go to him and I say John! Hey! Lezz talk. I know you've been avoiding me since you came back but talk to me baby! And you know what the bastard says to me? You know what he say?" She takes another sip of his beer. "He says he don't wanna talk to me no more! Can you believe that?"

The man drinks.

"Ha! That rat didn't give two shits about me! An' here I was, waiting for him! What a cruel comedy."

He simply finishes his drink and orders another. Barbara pulls his sleeve.

"What about you?" She asks. "Why are you here? Thwarted passion? Hope for romance? Though," she looks him up and down, "You don't seem like the romantic type."

"I'm not."