When the Stars Go Blue

Yellow speckles of light flashed and flickered, glossy and dull on the dark water surface. Statik shivered in the chilly night breeze. Her vacant gaze over the harbor abruptly dispelled and she snapped back into acknowledgment of the real world; goosebumps covered her arms, the skin on her fingers cold, thin and crackling. She reached for her cable-knit zip-up sweater and put it on. As the breeze died down, she closed her eyes and took a deep, musky freshwater breath; she opened her eyes and slowly sighed.

For a moment she imagined herself on a charter boat, set out to sea for a fishing expedition. No women allowed on the boat. Statik snorted and kicked an offensive clump of dried mud into the water. "Fucking assholes," she muttered to herself, "I'm not like most women - I can take a fish off a hook and have a beer just like any dude. I don't necessarily have to complain about anything. Whatever."

Statik sighed once more then leaned over the cold steel railing to look at the lapping water on the rocks below. She searched for her warm spot on the rail from where she was zoning out earlier but couldn't find it. She gave up and turned away to walk home. Or maybe she would stop at a bar first.

No, no, who would be at the bar? Strangers? Nah, when you're in a bar, nobody is a stranger, they're more like fellow members of a support group or patients in a mental hospital. You are totally peers and you can totally just go up and talk to whoever you want to, but don't expect to come out with a bring-home-to-mama-boyfriend or a really nice guy who just wants to buy you dinner and just happens to have concert tickets he doesn't want laying around.
Expect two drunk probably depressed, apathetic, lonely losers lovers to go back to someone's car place and have sloppy intense sex then considering a drive home pass out immediately thereafter. Then, in the morning, you do the walk of shame go to breakfast at a diner, hair in a messy ponytail, still wearing make-up from the night before and your penis-lender's second comfiest t-shirt. It could be fun.

Statik looked up at the stars twinkling, fixed and solid.
How can something that seems to move so slow be so beautiful?
It's the same old constellations.
It's the same old planets.
The same old galaxy.
Yet in it's relatively fixed infinity, it is infinitely fascinating, relative to me anyway.
At home, the stereo could be turned on and turned up; drinking and dancing could ensue and none would be the wiser if she passed out on the couch watching reality cooking shows recorded on the DVR. She walked past an open door with a bar inside, purple and green neon lights, and some awful classic rock song seeping down the stairs into the gutter. She plugged in her earphones, switched on the mp3 player and played "When the Stars Go Blue" as sung by Bono and The Corrs.

Where do you go when you're lonely?
Where do you go when you're blue?
Where do you go when you're lonely? I'll follow you...

Statik went home.