In Paris with You Rereation

In Paris with You Recreation
It was creeping on midnight and I was perched on a fabric-torn barstool drenched in reality. Paris is without a doubt, a beautiful city, but my eyes caught nothing but the Jack Daniels sitting beneath my nose. My Paris had left. I’m wounded, again.
I tried to focus past the hazy gleam that had distorted my vision. I looked around. My head was a dead weight. I turned back. My hand reached for another swift swig of my drink, spilling another mouthful onto my crisp white shirt. I couldn’t care. I can’t care.
I am trapped in a bubble with you. I am trapped in Paris with you. I struggled to open my heavy eyelids. The bartender was banging on the platform directly in front of me. Yet it felt as if he was a million miles away. As if there was a glass screen dividing me and him.
I just wanted to get home, what was this joker doing? I banged on the table once more. There’s always one that takes a heavy advantage of the silly hotels deals they set up. His head slumped further towards the whisky that I had unwillingly served him an hour ago.
“Pardon Monsieur” my politeness was strained. I looked around. Not a single person in sight. Everyone else was enjoying sleep. Yet the selfishness of another human being was obstructing me. If I’m honest that sums up my life. In a nutshell.
As I lay with my head down on the table. I was comforted, it was supporting me. For once I wasn’t uncomfortable and frustrated. Comfort, comfort, comfort. Suddenly my comfort was demolished as ice cold fingertips crept around my unsettled face. From one side to another the hand travelled, raising my head off the table. As the hand cut across my mouth, my breath rebounded and the warm tobacco sweetened scent shot up my nose. The majority of my face was now covered in this spindly chilling grasp. I was tugged up, light instantly hitting my battered eyelids, creating a warm glow, searing through. I was on my feet, I felt bare, I was nothing. I was dirt. Before I knew of...