Flash fiction: “Can’t give it up”

”I can’t do this anymore,” I said to anyone that would listen.

I was sitting in my regular spot. The bar was, as always, full of life and laughter. And I was the dark in there.

”I can’t keep coming here every single day.”

”Why not?” The man sitting next to me asked.

”Because it’s not good for me.” The man began answering me when he was interrupted.

”Don’t listen to him, John. He always says that.”

”Doesn’t make it any less true, Harry,” I said.

”Why are you still here then? After all these years.”

I couldn’t answer that. I guess it’s because this is the only way I know how to live.

It’s scary to give something up that you’ve been doing for your entire life.

”That’s right, no answer,” Harry said and returned to his drink.

A few people laughed at his comment.

I don’t like the people here. They’re not nice to me. And still, they’re the ones I choose to hang out with every night.

I don’t say anymore. I sit on my stool and sip on my beer.

I don’t like these people. But I love this bar.

So I can’t give it up.

I need this place. A lot more than it needs me.

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