Concord

“So are you just going to sit there and stare at me all night? Or do you have something you’d like to say?” he realized after he spoke the words that they had a little more venom in them than he had intended.
    “Its just that” she paused and took a deep breath, “It’s just that you used to be and happy and caring and now your just some miserable, sad, broken down old bastard who hates everything. Your jaded at twenty five years old.” She had been averting her eyes during this little speech, but now they were locked onto his intensely.
    He had his head down and was flicking his lighter on and off distractedly. He stared into his rapidly cooling cup of coffee and tried to think of something to say. He sat there stupidly open and closing his mouth a few times, as if preparing to say something, but no words would come out. He looked into her face, expecting to see tears or at least a shadow of sadness but the only thing he saw in her face was anger, accentuated by the harsh fluorescent lights of the near empty diner.
    “Is that really how you feel? You really, really think that about me?” he asked finally.
    “Yes, Goddamnit! You never want to do anything! You have no ambition, you just want to fucking sit around all day feeling miserable about yourself. Can you tell me the last time you did something fun? Or even wanted to?” she finished with a huff and looked exasperatedly at him.
    He sat back in his booth, and the creaking of the red vinyl seat only made the silence between them seem louder. Did he really want to deal with this? Was any of it really worth it? If he was honest with himself, and he rarely was, no, it just wasn’t worth it. He kept flicking his lighter on and off, trying desperately to avoid looking at her. He could feel her large china blue eyes burning holes into him and knew he had to make his escape.
    He sighed wearily and looked at her with the most forlorn face he could muster in the face of his decision. Finally he pursed his lips, shook his head a few times and then nodded. With another creak from the vinyl of the bench, he squeezed himself out of the booth, stood up, threw a few bills onto the cheap Formica table and walked out.
    A light snow had fallen while they were inside and he listened to the crunching sound it caused his shoes to make on the pavement. He headed home, flicking his lighter on and off, thinking to himself that if he was going to be a sad, miserable bastard, at least now he had an excuse.