Too Many Hotwings

Our table was facing yours. I watched as you sat there, looking at your friend who was dosing off in his seat. Then the crash. Broken glass showered and splintered around you. Your friend jumped. It took me a moment to realize what had happened. You sat in the leather chair for a few minutes, watching the blood careen down your arm, before heading off to the bathroom. I followed out of curiosity and a genuine need to piss. You stood at the sink, rinsing your wound and pulling it out of the water to wait for the blood to pool and run through your hands. I asked what happened. “Just wanted to break my glass, you know?”

I didn’t. “Think I might need stitches. Probably only three or four”. I nodded and then asked if I could take a picture. You let the blood swell in your palm and I shot.