“Under the Hood”

There’s something deeply comforting about wearing a hood. As if that thin piece of fabric could shield you from the world, or the world from you. It hides you, separates you. Under a hood, you could be anyone, and so no one really matters. I didn’t want to matter tonight. That’s why I disappeared into the shadows of my own.

The rain had already started on my way to the bar, one of those cold, relentless drizzles that doesn’t pour, but just piles up on you, soaking you in the slowest, most agonizing way possible. Everything smelled like wet asphalt and cheap cigarettes. Now, through the fogged-up window, the droplets keep sliding down the glass, making the neon streetlights outside shimmer in a distorted palette.

I don’t even know why I went out tonight. Maybe I just wanted to prove to myself that I could sit alone in a bar and drink flat beer. In movies, it looks more poetic, more romantic somehow. Here, it’s just… dull. No bartender eager to hear the story of your life, just a tired man counting the minutes until his shift is over. No beautiful women looking for fun to forget their broken hearts. Everyone here is trapped in their own little bubble, wrestling with their own demons.

But even the shared cause that brought us to this grimy neighborhood bar isn’t enough to make it feel cozy. If anything, it makes it even lonelier. Surrounded by many, but no one matters.
I don’t even want to look around or play that familiar game, guess who these people are, what they do based on their clothes, what brought them here. Tonight, I’ve sunk deep into myself. So deep, I’m not sure I’ll ever resurface.

I have no real reason to feel this way. No solid excuse to sit here drinking until my thoughts dissolve into white noise strong enough to put me to sleep. But that doesn’t make the terrible mood any less terrible. I take another sip and let the bitterness wash through me.

Some days, the thought that we’re tiny specks in a vast universe calms me. Other days, it unsettles me. Why shouldn’t I matter? Why should I? Why do I even want to?

Questions, questions, and more questions.

I glance around, bored with my own existential spiral, and notice the sticky floor, slick with spilled alcohol. Broken glass that no one’s cleaned up properly. Mud smeared everywhere from soaked shoes, yellowed curtains stained with years of smoke. What am I even doing here? Maybe the place looks the way I feel, and that’s what drew me in. I feel awful, and I want something to reflect that back at me.

Just then, a woman squeals with excitement and claps her hands in barely contained joy.

“I found a coin on the floor,” she says to the man next to her. “That’s a sign I’ll have good luck.”

I almost laugh at her enthusiasm. She’s clutching two cents in her fingers like it’s the greatest treasure in the world. Her eyes sparkle like a child’s, and suddenly she looks far more beautiful than she did when I first glanced across the bar.

“I’m so glad we came here,” she continues, mid-tirade. “This place is wonderful.”

I scoff under my breath and roll my eyes. What a comment. I glance again at the grimy surfaces, but then her voice cuts through once more:

“It’s warm in here, it’s not raining, the cocktails are fresh… and that chandelier is just beautiful.”

My first instinct is to laugh again, but then I see it.

It is warm. My clothes have dried from the rain. And the chandelier overhead is casting tiny crystal rainbows across the floor.
I stay here a while longer.

But this time, I’m not wearing my hood.