The man sits down at the bar. There are three bottles to his right. They are empty. To his left is a woman. She sits lower than the man.
"I don't understand," says the woman. She says this as a child might, wanting instructions from a father.
"I have to go," says the man.
"But why."
"I love you."
"I can't believe you anymore," says the woman.
The man orders another beer and looks at his suitcase on the floor. It is covered with stickers of the places he's been. To the left of the suitcase is a guitar case. It is older than the woman.
"I don't know that you ever did," replies the man.
"If you leave, who will sing you to sleep?"
"When I leave you will no longer want to sing me to sleep."
"I still have my harp. Take me along."
The man takes three calculated sips. One is a taste. Two is a reassurance. Three is a goodbye. He looks at the door. It is the type that swings without the safety of a spring-loaded closing mechanism. It flows freely. He draws parallels. The man runs his fingers through the long hair of the woman. She reminds him of an elf.
"You are very pretty, but I must go."
"Where?"
