I feel eyes on me and notice and guy staring directly at me. He's obviously drunk. He sits at the bar, a drink in his hand that is currently being poured out because he's too drunk to keep it up straight.

Can I help you?" he mumbles like he doesn't really want to help me. I'm sure that's not very good for Grey's business. Maybe it's another kind homeless person? A friend is a friend, whether they have a roof over their head or not. It's been a week and a half. A week and a half of me wondering about him. A week and a half of me trying to tell me to stop thinking about him and to forget about his terrible manners and rude attitude.She's never met someone as ill-mannered and menacing as him and it's not just his tattoos that lead her creative mind into developing such a thought.

I walk away from his desk, a satisfied smile on my lips. I have a seat on my designated little comfy chair and I pull out my book. I look between the both of them. I can almost feel my broken heart chipping away and falling into a bottomless pit.

Tonight, I chatted off a poor man's ears. A poor, seemingly attractive, tall man who was probably thinking I was a psycho person. That question doesn't appear to make him happy. Not much seems to make him happy. Not even milkshakes.