Hidden Places

After a long taxi ride and a few wrong turns, we step foot into the out-of-the-way bar, Uncle Mings. The scent of incense is unmistakable yet subdued, the decor ornate yet understated. It's a quietly beautiful place, worlds away from the glittering noise factories that are most of Sydney's hotspots are. Valentina and I find a secluded space. She insists we partake in drinking the Asian vodka, soju.
While she orders the drinks, I delight in the details; 90s r'n'b music provides an undercurrent of sensuality to an already intimate place, the patronage are a mix of affluent businessmen and grubby hipsters, their conversations rarely rising above a monotonous murmur. Even the drunks are staggering out quietly, without fuss. The deep reds and gold that colour Uncle Mings lend this humble place a garish edge.
Valentina arrives with the soju. We toast to strangers finding each other in seedy hostels. We clink our glasses and drink.
Good god, it burns. The fire spreads from throat to stomach in a matter of seconds. I concentrate intensely on keeping it down, lest my dinner spatter across our table. Valentina laughs throatily.
"Not used to a proper drink, farmer boy?" She asks.
"I'm not actually from a farm, you know. Sure, I drink. Mainly premixes." Valentina shakes her head at this.
"What garbage. If I want a drink, I'll get a real drink, not sup on some soft soda pop. It's a bit like sex in that way; I don't want to make love to a man but I'll-"
"Please. No need to get crude." Valentina drains her soju in a single swallow. She doesn't even make a face.
As the hours pass, we order more drinks. The bold colours that bedazzled me grow fuzzy. Turning my head becomes an adventure, so I keep still and quiet. Valentina ceaselessly rambles though her slurring is getting worse. I stop trying to decipher her ranting and opt to focus on the music. So weird how the smooth tunes have devolved into moans of agony. We're the drunkest people here, probably. I feel like an uninvited guest.
"You okay?" Asks Valentina. All I manage to respond with is a crooked smile and a shrug. Unsteadily, she moves from her chair to mine and wraps her arms around me. Her scent of old leather and lilac combined with the incense calms me, somehow.
"We're just stupid drunks, you and me," she murmurs into my shoulder. How could I ever have felt like an uninvited guest? This is, of course, a haven for the lonely. She and I are home, for now. I listen as closely as I can to her slurred whispers.