After being fired from the manor for causing an indeterminate inspection, and a third strike, I was freed entirely to meet up again with Sophia. I was finally free from work and could focus on my project but that could wait for now. She was completely available also and I got the impression that she didn't have a job either.

It was late afternoon when I arrived at Sophia's house to pick her up. Actually, it was more of an estate with a large onyx gate and lavender gardens along the driveway.  She came through the gate in a bright, daffodil dress and wicker hat. She was stunning. It was hard to get the words out to talk to her, but she didn’t have that problem.

“Salutations, Billy. I brought you something.” she revealed.

“Thanks. You didn’t have to do that. Poetry?”

“The complete works of Pushkin. The most distinguished Russian poet of all time.” she explained.

I put the book on the back seat.

"So the plan for the evening is dinner at the Country Club. My dad is a member so I was able to get a reservation.” 

“My father owns that porcelain palace. I virtually live there already. Could we go somewhere else?” she asked.

“Well, that was the nicest place I could think of. Maybe the art museum?” I offered.

“I don’t mean to be pretentious, but I've been to too many fancy places.” she protested. “I just want to relax and maybe people-watch. You know, go somewhere ordinary for a change.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Like a cafe?”

"I want to be where people go every day. The more mundane the better." she added.

“If you say so.” I shrugged.

“What?! I’m being earnest.” she protested.

She spoke effortlessly and with a diverse vocabulary I wasn’t accustomed to hearing. I fell in love with that language. For a brief moment it seemed like the world wasn’t so small after all.

“What do your friends do for fun?” she wondered.

“I don’t get out much either.”

“You don’t have anywhere to hang out?” she asked.

“Sometimes. There is one place, but I haven’t felt very social in a while.” I said.

“Take me.” she insisted.

We went to the strip mall in the shopping district. Most of the businesses were closed at that point, but the bar was still a staple for the locals even in the middle of the afternoon.

“This is it?” she queried. “It looks abandoned.” 

“It's downstairs.” I explained.

I showed her down the cellar steps to a place where nobody knew her name. The banal dive bar with rickety pool tables hadn’t changed since I was there last, or ever, presumably. The musty air was hazy and she coughed on the pungent smell as we entered.

"This is where I play Nine Ball with my roommate and his friends if I go with them. I do pretty well since it is a chance for me to use geometry in the real world." I said, racking the balls.

I handed her a que.

“Interesting.” she said, sinking two in one.

“You're trying to hustle me aren't you?” I joked. “You play well. I thought that pool was for us poor folk.”

"Boring, rich aristocrats play billiards." she said impersonating a cigar-smoking tycoon. 

We laughed together.

“So tell me about yourself. Are you working or in school?” I asked. 

“Father won’t let me get a job. He says it’s beneath me. The least I can do is attend university from home.” she said, squinting at her next target.

“That’s cool. What are you studying?” I asked.

“I’m getting my masters in literature, currently.”

“I could have guessed.”

“What about you?” she reciprocated.

“I went to school, but I’m not educated.” I responded, gesturing to compare myself to her. “I finished college with a degree in animation but it’s hard finding work. I’m in between jobs at the moment.”

“You mean you actually make cartoons? Like Disney?” she asked enthusiastically.

“Not exactly, but I hope to work for the studio one day.”

“Why would you ever want to work for such a faceless, multi-billion dollar company? You should make your own art.”

“Don’t knock Disney, they’re the best. For now I try to make a pilgrimage once a year to Disney World. It has been difficult lately to save up for it. But, Mickey makes me happy. Disney World gives me something to look forward to.”

“You really like Disney, huh?” she joked.

“I’m his biggest fan.”

“I’m just saying some companies are evil.” she reiterated. “What got you into animation?”

“I just really like bringing characters to life. It’s funny, because most of the cartoons I see on TV today have characters that are completely still on the screen. But that is like, rule number one: always keep moving. The second a character stops moving it looks dead. It’s just a drawing.”

We finished our game and took a break. Looking around the room, she took in all of the glitz and glamor the tavern had to offer. Grayscale calendar girls, probably now dead and gone, peeled from the wall. A lonely pay phone stood in the corner. Above the bar, a single sports TV rippled with static intermittently as the regulars huddled like moths to a flame.

“What about them over there? Do you know any of those people?” she asked.

“I don’t know them. They look familiar. Probably because they are here everyday.” I said.

“I wonder what their lives are like. Can you imagine what stories they could tell?” she said.

“Not really. Like I said, they are here everyday.”

We had a good time together. I sipped my rum and coke while she downed her gin and tonic. It was a tight game until a boorish barfly started heckling her.

"Let me buy you a drink, little Miss Lonelyheart!" the man yelled. 

“I've got it.” I urged.

“No, it's okay. I want to join my common man. Why don't I buy everyone a round of drinks instead?” she appeased.

"Woohoo!" he hollered.

She audaciously jumped right into the thick of it. The smoke, the sweat, and the smells enveloped her. She was one of the gang drinking draft beer and watching 'the game'. Which game she had no idea, but she was fully immersed. Whenever the group cheered, she cheered. Whenever the group booed, she booed. It seemed that she propitiated well until one of the patrons spoke up from behind a soot colored, handlebar mustache.

“You think you're better than us because you have money? We work for a living and we're proud of it!” the ascetic, mustached man yelled, pouring out his glass on the floor. “Right boys?”

“Yeah!” responded a man in the capricious crowd, immediately persuaded against her. They all poured out their drinks in solidarity.

“What are you doing in here, you spoiled brat!” he bombasted.

I didn't have the guts to do anything about it, but I didn't have a chance to anyway. She left before I could say something and I followed her out into the night. She started to cry a little, on her knees in the parking lot, stacking cigarette butts into little log cabins.

“I vomited.” she confessed.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Maybe I'm better off in my own class.” She stipulated.

“Can I take you to one last place?” I offered.