With her elbows pressed against the well-worn wood of the bar, Liz swiped at her phone. She found herself lurking the Facebook pages and tweets of her exes. None of them were particularly bad, per say, they just weren't right. But what is right? She really didn't know, but she knew they weren't it.

It wasn't their fault. A lot of girls will say, "it's not you, it's me," but when Liz said it, she really meant it. She was too weird and different than other people. She was starting to think no one would ever be right for her.

"Need a refill?" asked Amy from behind the bar.

"Apparently so," remarked Liz, shaking her empty glass, as if there might still be some alcohol hiding under the melting ice.

It was another quiet Tuesday night at The Crossroads. It was almost one in the morning and hardly a soul had entered the place. A couple of old men, in town for a sales conference, had taken the place over for a while, but they were gone now. She wished it was Monday. Monday night is trivia night.

Liz was bonkers bored, despite the fact she was very drunk. She wasn't a big fan of The Crossroads, but her roommate was the bartender, which meant she only had to pay for every third drink. That was a good thing, because she didn't have a job. Quite honestly she didn't want one.

"So, have you figured out what you are going to do?" asked Amy as she placed another whiskey sour in front of Liz.

"Jeeze, Can't I think about it tomorrow?" Liz asked.

"Well, I guess if you're too drunk to think about it, then you won't be needing this." Amy made an empty gesture to take the drink back.

"Hey, hey, no! I'll figure it out. I'm good."

"So?" Asked Amy.

"So what?" Liz was sucking the drink down through a straw, protecting the glass from Amy like it was a wounded limb.

"So... Are you going to get a job tomorrow?" Asked Amy.

"I will. I just got to figure out what it is I want to do." Liz said.

"Well, you better figure it out quick, rent is due in seven days and I'm not going to float for two months in a row. Listen, I got to change out a keg. Keep an eye on the bar until I get back."

Liz looked around the empty room.

"Don't worry, I don't think it's going anywhere."

Liz went back to drinking and swiping at her phone. She was thinking about asking her parents for money, but she hated doing that. It always came with some kind of strings attached, or worse. They might ask her to move back in with them. She shuddered at the thought.

As terrible as her drinking and phone addiction was, it kept her from thinking about the future. One would think that knowing their future would be a good thing, but it isn't. At first it seemed exciting and gave her a feeling of security to know that there was always something to come, that her life would never be cut short unexpectedly.

The downside however is that knowing your future makes it terribly uninteresting. All of her accomplishments, first loves, best friends... none of them were a surprise. When you get to the moment where you saw yourself in the visions, it all becomes a rerun. Instead of enjoying the moment, you see your younger self looking back at you like a reflecting pool through time.

You go through the motions.

You act like it was a surprise.

You pretend like you didn't know all this was going to happen.

But then Liz discovered alcohol. It is, apparently, impossible to see the future when you are drunk all the time. Once Liz realized this, she had been drunk ever since.

Liz's thoughts were disrupted when a man with dark wavy hair and a leather jacket took a seat over from Liz at the bar.

He was tall and clean. She wouldn't have noticed him, but he was tapping his fingers on the bar. He was playing an imaginary piano in sync to the country music on the jukebox. Every time he tapped his fingers on the bar counter, it sent a vibration through the wood.

He was kind of hot for an older guy, Liz thought. He turned and saw her looking at him. He smiled.

"You a country music fan?" Liz blurted out at him.

"Not particularly. It's okay, I guess."

"Yeah. Me neither." Liz said. "I'd love to change it, but I don't have enough for the jukebox."

"How much is it?"

"A dollar for two songs."

The man reached into his jacket and pulled out a bundle of cash held together with a rubber band. He peeled two singles off and handed it to Liz.

"Knock yourself out," he said.

Liz stumbled across the room to the wall mounted jukebox. She fed the dollars into the slot and picked four tracks. The country music faded away and was replaced with an electronic sound with lots of thumping bass. A woman sang something about putting hands in the air. The chorus had something to do with butter. Liz danced her way back to her seat. The ice jingled in her empty glass.

"I'm starting to think that I might be regretting my investment," the man said.

"Oh come on. You don't like this either?"

He awkwardly tried dancing to it.

"No, not really. Do you know if there is a bartender? I kind of just want to get a drink. Long night."

Liz rolled her eyes and rolled off the bar stool.

"Wha-cha want? I'll get it." Liz was slurring pretty badly, but she couldn't care less.

"You're the bartender?"

"Well, everyone's got to have a job, right? So wha-cha want?"

"Um... Irish Whiskey neat and back it with a PBR thanks."

"Neat. That means no ice, right?" Liz asked as she made her way around behind the bar.

"Right. No ice."

Liz put a tall glass on the bar in front of the man and tilted the dark green whiskey bottle over it.

"I always forget when to stop pouring, so you just tell me when."

Liz stared the man down in his eyes. He smiled back at her.

The man reminded Liz of the future and suddenly she smelled salty ocean air, palm trees, sand, and at the very end, the hint of French fries. He didn't break his gaze and neither did she. Only when the glass was overflowing onto the black rubber spill mat did the man look down.

"That's fine right there."

Liz slammed the glass down into the puddle of whiskey hard enough to make a splash. She then turned around and bent over to grab a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon from the little glass fridge and gave the tab a pull before putting it down next to the whiskey.

"What do I owe you?" The man asked.

"Just your name will do."

The man blushed and so did Liz.

"Rick. My name is Rick."

"Liz. Nice to meet you."

Rick put a five dollar bill down on the bar.

"I guess that is for you."

Liz swooped it up and put it in her pocket. She then fixed herself another whiskey sour, this time with good stuff instead of the well whiskey Amy gives her. By the time Liz sat down again the music had changed to something softer. Something with guitar, piano, and a brushed snare.

"I like this one a lot better," said Rick pointing to the jukebox. He took a sip of his whiskey and let out a little cough. "It's going take a while to finish this drink. I just came in for something quick."

"What's your hurry?"

"No hurry really. Just a long day… Eager to get home."

"But we're just starting to have fun, Rick."

Rick held his drink up. The glass was still half full despite having already drank two shots out of it.

"I guess so."

They both sat quietly drinking and listening to the music.

Rick was trying to come up with some sort of conversation topic, but it was difficult because it was hard to think of anything other than how gorgeous Liz looked, despite being obviously inebriated.

Yet, when she bent over to get the PBR, she seemed to find it way too fast. He found himself fantasizing about her having to struggle to find that last PBR hiding way in the back of the little cooler, just out of reach for her little arms. He began to blush again. That's not very gentlemanly, Rick thought to himself.

"Is it okay if I take my drink outside?" Rick asked. "I kind of want to have a smoke."

"Hey," said Liz, "It's a free county."